The Lost Prince
by SunnyBunny99
Summary: Severus Snape is not dead, and Minerva McGonagall knows it.
1. Chapter 1

The Lost Prince

 **Chapter 1**

Minerva McGonagall seated herself wearily behind the desk of the Headmaster's office, removing her spectacles to rub the bridge of her nose. She could practically feel the stress building behind her eyes like a volcano billowing smoke. Soon, if things continued the way they had been, it would be too much for her to handle and she would do one of two things—melt down or blow up.

Hogwarts couldn't afford to have a Headmistress who was unable to cope with her own emotions; not now. It had been just three months since the fall of the Dark Lord Voldemort, and most families were still in various stages of outrage and grief. Loads of Howlers came in every day, and the incessant sobbing and screaming of parents combined with the expectant Ministry of Magic looming over her shoulder and the job of rebuilding the half-destroyed castle while trying to organize class schedules for the upcoming school year was enough to make her want to give up and throw herself off the Astronomy Tower.

"Long day?" a kindly voice interrupted Minerva's silent despair. Looking up, the Animagus witch met the twinkling eyes of Albus Dumbledore, where he gazed down from his portrait on the wall.

"To say the least," she huffed, swiveling to face him. "How in Merlin's name did you manage to cope with all of this?"

The old Headmaster smiled—a genuine smile. "I found that it was wisest to tackle one challenge at a time," he advised. "It improves focus and eases the burden."

Good advice, per usual. Minerva was extremely grateful to have the portraits around, though sometimes Dumbledore's constant lighthearted chatter grated on her already dangerously frayed nerves. It was a great alleviation to have such wise company when she needed it most.

Shifting her focus from Dumbledore's portrait, Minerva's sharp hazel eyes settled on the second one next to it. A plain ebony wood frame hung there, the small bronze plaque affixed to the bottom reading: _Headmaster Severus Snape._

But instead of a beautifully painted portrait, the frame held a blank canvas. Everyone at Hogwarts knew that once a Headmaster or –mistress died, their living portrait magically appeared in the office. It held the deceased person's essence, so it was slightly akin to a sort of reincarnation; they could think, converse with those still living and move from their own frame to any of the others in the castle if they so desired. Dumbledore (having been slain by none other than Severus Snape himself) was now the occupant of a new portrait, but Snape was not—there wasn't even a background on his. It was as if the magical force had sensed his life ebbing away and begun to form the picture, but had somehow been stalled.

"He died, though," McGonagall heard herself mutter. "Potter, Granger _and_ Weasley all told me they watched him die in the Shrieking Shack…there's no way he couldn't have a portrait!" She paused, the little cogs of her mind whirring. "Unless the Ministry didn't see fit to give him one, on account of his involvement with the Death Eaters."

"Minerva, Potter allowed you to view Severus's Pensieve memories, did he not?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes," Minerva affirmed absently.

"Then you know that Severus' true loyalty was with me—with the Order. He was my spy even before Lily and James were killed; once he became disillusioned with Voldemort's enslavement, he realized his folly and committed his life to unraveling the Darkness from the inside. After Harry's parents died, obviously, he spent a majority of his waking hours protecting him within these castle walls."

The Scottish witch clasped her hands behind her back and began to pace. "I know that now, Albus. What is your point?"

"I informed Cornelius Fudge and the Wizangamot of Severus's role as a double agent," Dumbledore explained patiently. "They awarded him the Order of Merlin for his heroic sacrifice. Also, as he was a properly acknowledged Headmaster voted in by the Ministry, there is no reason they would not allow him a portrait."

Minerva bit her lip. "That Order of Merlin was awarded posthumously," she mused. "But…honestly, Albus, I have a difficult time believing Severus is dead!" She threw up her hands. "I mean, why else would his portrait be missing? There are hundreds of Headmaster's portraits throughout this castle—can you honestly expect me to believe that _every single one of them_ died either in this castle or within the grounds?"

"If memory serves, Severus fled after a little duel you two had together," Dumbledore said. "He abandoned his post as Headmaster."

"But that alone is not an automatic dismissal of position!" exclaimed McGonagall stubbornly, shaking her head. "An approved Headmaster of Hogwarts must stand trial and be ceremonially discharged by the Ministry of Magic before their name is erased from the ledger! Severus was never formally discharged; he simply left the grounds, which is something Headmasters do all the time."

The white-bearded wizard was silent, and finally he blinked as if he had just come across a major revelation. "You argue an excellent point, Minerva," he admitted. "But I cannot advise you to make any great assumptions about this. Magic is a complex and finicky thing, as you well know; it could simply be a little hiccup."

"Magic doesn't _hiccup_ , Albus," Minerva insisted with narrowed eyes. "Severus Snape is alive, and I know it."

"Then why hasn't he returned?"

"Oh, I don't know. Perhaps it's because of the entire student body's hatred for him, or the bad memories of his childhood here or maybe just because he'd prefer to be somewhere else besides a drafty old castle in Scotland?" she spat sarcastically, folding her arms. "I know if I had a choice, I'd much rather be sitting on the beach suntanning in Bermuda."

Dumbledore smirked. "If he _is_ alive, I don't think he'd be in Bermuda—or any tropical place, for that matter. You remember how badly he burns, don't you?"

The two shared a bout of jolly laughter as they both recalled the plight of the fair-skinned Snape, who had had to wear sleeves even in the hottest months because exposure to direct sunlight for more than ten minutes would render his flesh pink and tender. In his first year of teaching, poor Snape had sat through a two-hour Quidditch match and come back in afterwards with burns verging on second-degree from the scorching August sun; Poppy Pomfrey had slathered him in aloe and given him a sun-protection tonic, but he rarely went out after that little incident.

Wiping tears of mirth from her eyes, the Headmistress chuckled. "I suppose you're right. Bermuda would _not_ be a fit match for Severus. Anyhow, where do you suspect he would have gotten to…and how would he have survived Voldemort's snake?"

"The question of the hour," responded Dumbledore, wrinkles fanning at the corners of his eyes. "You could ask him once— _if_ —you find him."

"No, not _if_ ," Minerva said _. "When."_

And with that, she turned primly on her heel and marched purposefully out of the office.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

" _Expecto Patronum!"_

Minerva felt the heat of magic surge through her being as three sparkling, iridescent bluish-silver tabby cats sprang from the tip of her wand and whirled to face her, sensing her desire to relay a message. "Go to Professor Flitwick," she commanded.

Silently, with sparks of starlight spraying from their paws, the Patroni bounded away and mere moments later their caster was seized by a vision—the Patroni had found Flitwick and were allowing her to see through their eyes. Minerva blinked, frozen in place as her irises turned silver and the corridor she stood in melted into the office of the Head of Ravenclaw House.

The dwarf wizard, startled by the sudden arrival of McGonagall's cat Patroni, flinched visibly and lowered the thick Charms book he had been buried in. "Minerva, is that you?" he squeaked, peering suspiciously over a pair of thick spectacles. Even though he had seen the Gryffindor witch cast her Patronus multiple times, the recent war with Darkness had put everyone on edge; trust was strained between even the closest of friends.

"Yes, Filius, it's me," Minerva assured him. She saw the tension melt out of the little man's frame as her voice echoed from the Patronus. "Listen carefully now—I require something of you. It's a daunting task, but one I know you can handle."

"A proper Ravenclaw is prepared for anything," Flitwick declared proudly, puffing out his small chest with pride. "What may I do for my Headmistress?"

Minerva inhaled deeply and said, "I need you to run Hogwarts for me." As blatant shock replaced the pride on the Charms Professor's face, she barged on: "It's just for a time. I must go away for a while, and you're the next most senior staff member here. Of course, you'll have the help of the other three Heads of House, and—"

"What duty calls that you must leave Hogwarts so soon after becoming Headmistress?" Flitwick interrupted, and she felt guilty to hear the confusion in his voice. "The students and staff need you now, Minerva—more than ever! The wizarding world is still reeling from the war with You-Know-Who, and the last thing this school needs is another Headmaster running away!"

Never before had McGonagall heard such raw anger from Flitwick. "I am not running away, Filius," she snapped back harshly. "If you must know, I have reason to believe that this school's previous Headmaster—yes, Snape, the one who really _did_ run away—is still alive. Going by this, I have a sworn duty of loyalty to find him and bring him back."

The Ravenclaw was silent for a moment, then replied with venom, "And what makes you think we'd welcome a two-faced coward back to terrorize our school again?"

"He wasn't a coward!" McGonagall practically bellowed, and through the eyes of the Patronus she saw Flitwick flinch as the three specters flared with light and power. "If you listened at all to the speech Cornelius Fudge gave, you would have realized that! Everything Severus did was for Potter's sake; he directly and deliberately lied to Voldemort multiple times, risking his life for the Order of the Phoenix! The front of evil he put up was merely for theatrical purpose because there were two Death Eaters breathing down his neck, ready to turn him in to their master if he made one wrong move!"

Here the Scottish witch broke off, heaving in a lungful of air and verbally reloading. "Really, Flitwick, you're quite dim for a Ravenclaw sometimes," she spat. "Perhaps in the future you will cross-examine the evidence before making false accusations." A long, tense moment passed. "So…what say you to my request to make you Deputy Headmaster?"

"I…" Flitwick stammered, cowed by her outburst. "I suppose I have no choice," he said finally. Shrugging lamely and looking dejected, he added, "Besides, whatever the Headmistress says goes. My fate is ultimately your call."

"Keep in mind that I am being benevolent here, Filius," Minerva reminded him. "I _am_ giving you a choice instead of ordering you about like I could. So—" she folded her arms—"will you accept my offer?"

He sighed. "Yes."

"Excellent. Thank you," McGonagall said primly. "I shall write to the Ministry and tell them of this situation; they should send a letter of approval back within the week. From then on, your position of Temporary Hogwarts Headmaster will be enacted, and I will be able to leave."

"But Minerva…"

"Yes?"

Flitwick looked conflicted. "Do you plan on telling the Ministry your hunch?" he asked. "I mean, that you think Snape is still out there?"

"No. They would dismiss it as foolishness—probably make it out to look like battle-shock or some other drabble like that—and my request of leave would never be approved. As Headmistress, my business does not concern them and nor does it need to." A wry snort of mirthless laughter huffed from her lips. "Huh—really, for all I care, that stuffy lot can go stick their prying noses right up their—"

"I understand, Minerva." Flitwick interjected quickly before she could finish the thought. "Thank you for considering me worthy to fill your shoes. I will do my best."

The Headmistress's pleased demeanor filtered through her magical link with the tabby cat Patroni and they began to purr. "I know you will, Filius," she said. "That is why I chose you. Anyhow, I am sure you must be up to something more important; I'll leave you to it. Good night."

"Good night, Minerva," said Flitwick.

McGonagall swiped her wand through the air, cutting off her link with the Patroni and re-opening her eyes to find herself once more in the corridor outside her office. The hum of magic through her being decreased slightly as her eyes faded back to hazel. A wave of exhaustion quite abruptly settled over her—long Patronus-Messages tended to do that—and she swayed slightly on her feet before shaking her head to clear it.

Gone were the long nights of grading papers; now, she had much more pressing matters to deal with, and rest was a valuable commodity. The thought of bed alone made her even more tired, and so with clipped steps the Headmistress of Hogwarts began the long journey up to Gryffindor Tower.

Even without a House to lead, McGonagall had refused to leave her cubs. She stoutly remained in her bedchambers with their red and gold tapestries and handmade student artwork plastered to the walls. Settling in under her quilt, she tucked her wand under her pillow and drifted off in warm darkness.

But even the Lioness of Gryffindor wasn't prepared for the dreams which came in those next hours.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

" _Minerva…"_

 _The named witch started, jostled from her thoughts of grading essays, as a familiar voice sounded outside her office. "Just a moment," she called, carefully slipping her quill back into its red inkwell and dusting her hands before rising to move to the door._

 _But when she pulled that door open, the sight of what—_ _ **who**_ _—stood beyond turned the blood to icy slush in her veins._

" _Severus!" she cried, her heart wrenching painfully in her breast._

 _Severus Snape looked up at her through a curtain of lank black hair, one of his eyes swollen shut and the flesh around it mottled a nasty shade of purplish-yellow. His lower lip was split, oozing blood; he sagged against the doorframe with breaths coming ragged and shallow. "Minerva," he gasped, and his usually smooth bass voice had become a raspy groan, "you have to help me…"_

 _ **He must have been out in the rain,**_ _Minerva thought in a strangely detached moment as she watched cold water dribble from his clothes, his hair, mingling with the blood running in scarlet rivulets down his lean and sallow cheeks._

 _As she looked on, somehow unable to move, Snape—the stolid ex-Headmaster, the feared ex-Potions Master—staggered, wheezed her name one last time and collapsed in a limp, sodden heap at her feet._

"Severus!" screeched Minerva, bolting to help him. Instead of a body, though, her fingers stubbed hard against the unyielding oaken door of her bedchambers and sent a flash of pain down her arm. "Merlin's bloody bollocks!" the Headmistress snarled, clenching her injured hand and stumbling back a step.

After a few long moments the confusion and pain had worn off, allowing McGonagall to assess the situation. She had been dreaming…

…and sleepwalking?

The witch frowned, still massaging her fingers. Never in all of her fifty years had she ever been prone to sleepwalking or insomnia. Come to think of it, she couldn't recall the last time she had had a bad dream.

Sharp hazel eyes narrowed as their owner mused over the contents of that nightmare. It was far too coincidental to receive something like that right after her decision to go fetch Snape back. She knew all too well that dreams could be one of three things: remembrances of the past, omens of the future, or messages.

Quickly the first option was dismissed—she had never had an encounter with Snape like that. Occasionally she had detected a slight limp in his step when he was billowing down the halls or given him an extra sideways glance at the Staff Table because she thought she saw a half-healed bruise on his face, but nothing nearly as severe as the state his dream-self had been in. The second option was viable, but the third was far more likely. Minerva had never gotten a message through a dream before, so she had no idea how to decipher it or follow up in any way.

And then, like a bolt of lightning, it hit her. "You silly chit," McGonagall scolded herself as she yanked on her clothes, "what do you think the school has a Seer for?"

Sybil Trelawney was a hard nut to crack and more than a bit dotty, that much was for sure, but the year of Dolores Umbridge's reign of terror had softened the two women's relationship greatly. It was obvious that the frizzy-haired Divination Professor was grateful for Minerva's defense of her against the prejudice of that evil pink-clad troll, and the pair met for tea every so often to grade papers and swap stories.

Rather than waste energy casting another Patronus-Message, McGonagall opted to pay a visit herself. As was a regular occurrence each morning, her skin itched for the pleasure of her Animagus form, so she Transfigured and took her time going down to the Divination classroom. The pools of summer sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows were warm, the marble-tiled floors cool and smooth beneath her paws. The fresh air of the morning did wonders for the Gryffindor witch; parting her jaws and peeling back her lips, her enhanced feline senses were able to pick out the musky scent of the Whomping Willow's blooms and the pungent, grassy, freshly-mown Quidditch pitch.

Trelawney didn't even look up from her copy of the _Quibbler_ when a sleek silver tabby cat with inky black swirls and sharp green eyes pushed into her room. "Good morning to you, Headmistress McGonagall," she murmured, treating the feline to a warm and genuine smile.

Minerva Transfigured back to human form and nodded respectfully at the Seer. "Good morning, Professor," she responded. "I was wondering if—"

"—I could decipher that dream you had?" Trelawney finished, lowering her newspaper and levelling steady eyes on the Scottish witch. "Yes, I can. But the question is, do you want me to?"

"Well, of course—" McGonagall began, then cut off abruptly as second thoughts stalled her words. Hazel eyes narrowed at the Divination Professor. "What do you mean by that? You know I hate it when people are cryptic—speak some sense."

"I mean," said Trelawney frankly, "that if I See into your dreams and translate them truthfully, you may not like what you hear."

Worry and unease stiffened McGonagall's spine, but she jutted her chin boldly. "I am a Gryffindor—I can take whatever comes to me. Just do it."

The bushy-haired Seer sighed. "Very well, Headmistress. Give me your hands, please."

Minerva did as ordered, slipping her fingers into the smooth, warm palms of the other woman. The classroom lights flickered and dimmed as Trelawney bowed her head, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. The heavy scents of burning sage and incense seemed to grow stronger; Minerva resolutely squelched her rapidly rising trepidation about her decision.

Then Trelawney's head snapped back up, and the Transfiguration Professor had to bite back a yelp of surprise to see that her eyes had turned white.

" _The spirits tell me your dream is no coincidence,"_ Trelawney rasped in a voice quite different from her own. _"Severus Snape means to contact you—he is casting his last vestiges of energy to do so."_

"Where is he?" gasped McGonagall, both elated that her suspicions had been confirmed and dreadfully frightened by the news. "Is he alright?"

Trelawney twitched. _"I sense…Muggles,"_ she concluded in a hoarse hiss. _"Snape is surrounded by Muggles—he is fearful, though…there is something after him…he is very weak and hiding from it…"_

She coughed, jerked spasmodically and her hands slid away from Minerva's, breaking contact. With a ragged gulp of air she blinked hazily and her eyes turned back to their normal color. "That was it," she said, and she sounded tired. "The vision was very indistinct, but I could feel the emotion quite strongly."

"You said there was something going after Snape," Minerva said tersely. "What was it?"

Trelawney shook her head wearily. "No clue. The only thing I could sense was his fear, and the knowledge that he was being hunted." Reaching out with a shaky hand she picked up a half-empty teacup and lifted it to her chapped lips. Over the rim her eyes, magnified by the thick lenses of their glasses, bored into McGonagall. "I also know that you must go—as soon as possible," she added quietly, and her tone was deadly serious. "Severus needs you now; he is in terrible danger. I have never known him to be so frightened—for such a strong wizard to cower in seclusion means that whatever in coming after him must also be very, very Dark and very powerful."

Without a word Minerva bolted to her feet, Transfigured and tore down the corridor in cat form with urgency snapping at her tail.

She had a letter to write, a journey to undergo, and a man to save.


	4. Chapter 4

**(Author's Note: Thanks to all who followed, favorite and reviewed! My heart thrills every time I check my email and see all this positive feedback; my creativity thrives on it! Hugs and kisses to all of you lovely people!)**

 **(P.S. I'm not JKR, nor do I own anything.)**

 **4**

"Hoo…hoo! _HOO!"_

The loud and persistent noise surfaced Minerva from a deep and (blessedly) dreamless sleep. Groggily she realized that she had fallen asleep reviewing paperwork at her desk, her spectacles had slid off her nose, and there was a spittle stain on the parchment beneath her head.

There was also a very large and very irritated-looking owl tapping at the window.

Wetting dry lips with her equally dry tongue, McGonagall fumbled ungracefully for her glasses before rising and unlatching the window to let the owl in; it fluttered onto her desk and extended a leg, onto which was tied an envelope. The Headmistress's pulse quickened—the envelope's seal was from the Ministry of Magic. Quickly she untied the message, slipped a Sickle into the bird's money pouch and sent it on its way. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she then reseated herself and popped the seal.

 _Dear Headmistress McGonagall,_

 _The Ministry of Magic has convened and ultimately decided to approve your leave of absence. It has been set for a total of three weeks, after which you will be expected to return to Hogwarts._

 _We have also approved your choice of Filius Flitwick as acting Deputy Headmaster during your trip. Providing that he also consents, we will write him in three days from the time you receive this letter._

 _The Ministry hopes your travel is safe and your business pleasant._

After her eyes skimmed over the last word there came a crackling sound, and Minerva quickly let go of the parchment as it began to incinerate itself. The ashes floated up and out the window—they would be going back to the Ministry as proof that the letter had been read, thereby starting the three-day time span before Flitwick's writing-in ceremony as Deputy Headmaster. But even three days seemed far too long—Minerva wanted to scream in frustration as she thought of the danger Severus might be in at the very moment. And here she was, sitting on her bum in her office scarfing biscuits and slurping tea like nothing was amiss.

In the far corner, a magnificently-plumaged red phoenix squawked and ruffled its feathers, turning fierce golden eyes on the Scottish witch as she brushed the last bit of paper from her fingertips. Minerva, not to be cowed by a staring contest with a bird, leveled her gaze right back. "Don't look at me like that, Fawkes," she grumbled. "I just need to learn patience, that's all. It's a Gryffindor problem."

Fawkes merely blinked, and Minerva got an unsettling feeling that he knew something she did not.

 _Four Days Later_

The watch dangling from Minerva's skirt pocket showed two twenty-three in the morning as she hastily stuffed the last of her belongings into a worn carpetbag. Exhaustion tempted to drag her eyelids down and her bed's hippogriff-down-stuffed mattress was practically whispering sweet nothings across the darkened room. But if Gryffindors were known for anything, it was stubbornness, and Minerva was no anomaly; she pinched herself sharply and hefted the bag before trotting swiftly and silently down the moving staircases.

Four fellow staff members stood at the front gates of the castle to see her off: Flitwick, Poppy Pomfrey, Madam Hooch and Trelawney. "Minerva," said Pomfrey warmly, and wrapped the other woman in a motherly hug before she could protest otherwise, "I've brought you a little something for the trip." There was a small leather pouch slung across her shoulder, which she held out for the Headmistress to take.

Under the others' expectant gazes McGonagall pulled out three small vials of liquid. "Potions? I thought they weren't your specialty," the ex-Head of Gryffindor House said, puzzled.

"They're not—I used to get them from…well, from Snape, of course," muttered Pomfrey abashedly. "But any good mediwitch worth her salt knows how to whip up a basic brew; these weren't too difficult."

Examining the potions, one was bright red—"Pepperup Potion," McGonagall said, slightly relieved. "Thank you. I'll certainly use this…I'm already tired!" She laughed breathlessly, and the others joined in for a lighthearted moment. "Anyhow, I'll save it for later." The second vial held a golden-hued mixture, which was identifiable as a Draught of Peace.

"For the stress," Pomfrey explained. "Journeys can be long and quite taxing on both the body and mind; a sip of that will do wonders for a few hours."

"How wonderfully thoughtful," smiled Minerva, and then produced the third and last vial. The sparkling silvery potion swirling within baffled her for a minute before she realized what it was. "Felix Felicis?" she asked, dumbfounded. "Poppy…this is no simple brew; in fact, it's notoriously complex. How did you do this?"

"That's the one I was going to tell you about," Pomfrey said softly, "because _I_ didn't brew it. I found it…" she swallowed, "in the Potions storeroom. It was shoved in the very back of the top shelf, covered in dust…figured it would come to far better use in your hands than just sitting up there for Merlin knows how many more years. It would be most helpful if you ever find yourself in trouble of any sort."

Suddenly feeling achingly nostalgic, Minerva drew the pad of her thumb across the yellowed label, her pupils flickering across the familiar spidery handwriting there—Snape's handwriting.

She missed the days of old, barging into his classroom while he was scrawling instructions over the chalkboard or receiving snarky little letters from him by owl when he was just three floors away. She missed sniping about Quidditch and knitting in front of the fire in the staff lounge, watching his long, deft fingers fly through the purls like it was nothing. Memories of their trip to Hogsmeade over Christmas holiday every year gave her a pang of anguish; how he had loved going into the bookstore, always emerging with arms laden full.

After visiting the bookstore, Snape would tuck his new treasures into a Bottomless Bag and then they would jog across the street to the Hog's Head, where their annual Firewhiskey-drinking contest had become legend. For a solid hour they both threw back shotglass after shotglass full of wretchedly spicy cinnamon liquor as pub attendees cheered them on and took bets. And every year without fail, Minerva won the contest; Snape would bolt to his feet, his sallow face burning beet-red, steam leaking from his nostrils and eyes bloodshot.

"Next year," he would pant. "Next year I'll take that smug grin offa your face." His native Cokeworth accent only revealed itself when he was either horribly angry or ridiculously drunk. In this case the latter was quite true, but his anger was mostly in jest because he knew fie well that the results would be the same the following year too.

"I'd like to see you try," Minerva would smirk as she tipped back her twentieth glass of Firewhiskey and belched smoke.

And then they tottered back to the castle together, giggling like children and hiccupping violently. The morning after was also a ritual—Snape slept 'til half-past noon and woke with a splitting headache, while Minerva rose before dawn and hardly had a hangover. She would deliver tea to the Slytherin Head of House in his chambers—"Lavender for relaxation and peppermint for a clear head" was her mantra—and Snape would hand her a vial full of what he termed "Inebriation Solution"; or, in basic terms, an anti-hangover potion he had made previously that week. After spiking their tea with it, the pair sipped contentedly away in the semi-darkness of his bedroom and chatted absently about the new books they had purchased.

"Minerva, are you alright?" Poppy's concerned question brought the daydreaming Headmistress back to reality.

"What? Oh, oh yes," Minerva assured her hastily, shoving the Felix Felicis back into the pouch.

Without hesitation, Madam Hooch strode up and presented her with a broom—brand new, with a polished mahogany handle, shining stirrups and stiff bristles. "Newest model," she said gruffly. "The old Nimbuses we keep in the broom shed won't get you anywhere."

Minerva accepted the broom gratefully and made eye contact with Trelawney as she stepped up. From the endless layers of faded fabric which served as robes, the frizzy-haired teacher drew out a small, milky glass ball. "This is a Vision Orb. It can be used only three times, but it will allow you a ten-second glimpse at the thing—or person—which you seek. Please be careful with it; I keep all my used ones," she added somewhat pleadingly.

"I will." McGonagall dutifully tucked the Orb away and hefted her new broom as Flitwick waddled closer.

"Please be careful, Minerva," he squeaked solemnly. "I'll do what I can, but Hogwarts just isn't the same without you."

A rare smile twitched the Scotswoman's mouth, and she dipped her head. "I fully intend to come back safely, Filius," she responded warmly. "Or should I say, _Headmaster."_ Flitwick blushed deeply at her use of the honorific title and waved her off.

McGonagall laid the broom on the ground and stretched her open hand over it—"Up!" There came a satisfying _smack_ as the cool, waxy wooden handle hit her palm and her fingers curled instinctively around it. In a flourish of robes Minerva slung one leg over and carefully settled her weight on the broom; it held up beautifully, almost pushing back with an urge to take off. After double-checking the straps and buckles on her sling-pouch to ensure that all magical items were safely inside, Minerva Transfigured her carpetbag into a backpack and shrugged it on.

All four staff members waved furiously as their Headmistress saluted farewell one last time and kicked off from the ground to soar upwards and fade into the starry sky above.

Flitwick sighed deeply as he gazed after her. "What has she gotten herself into now, I wonder?"

Beside him, Hooch snorted. "Don't ask me—Merlin's beard, sometimes I don't even think _she_ knows."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Flying was one of Minerva's greatest pleasures in life. In her younger days she had dominated the Quidditch pitch as Gryffindor's star Chaser—her right arm was still solid with lean muscle from years of hurling Quaffles. Even to the present moment, the rush she felt upon kicking off from solid ground and soaring up into the blue beyond was unmatched.

The night air was cool, but not uncomfortably so as it pulled with frantic vaporous fingers at the hem of Minerva's cloak, which streamed out behind her. At such a speed—approximately fifty miles per hour at the rate she was going now—she figured silently that she would be to her destination within an hour and a half.

She recalled Flitwick's fretful look: _"Do you know where you're headed, Minerva?"_

Her answer had been truthful—well, somewhat. She knew where her first stop was, but from there she had absolutely no clue. She had rather hoped (gambled, more like) that there would be a clue somewhere about which would lead her on to the next place. After all, Snape was a rather disorganized man—he always left a trail. And if he was in danger, surely he would give hints for those aware enough to notice them.

McGonagall sighed, watching the ground crawl by hundreds of kilometers below. Overhead, seemingly brighter because of her closer proximity, stars winked and the witch thought back to an offhanded quote she had once heard from Dumbledore:

" _There is a reason stars only shine at night. When a good witch or wizard dies, their spirit is embodied in the heavens so that we may look up and see them and know that they are always watching over us in our times of darkness."_

A deep ache throbbed in Minerva's breast, and she felt the wind stinging at the tears in her eyes. "Help me now, Albus," she whispered. "Look after Severus until I find him."

A few shreds of gray cloud scudded across Minerva's field of flight, a misty dampness that tickled the face and chilled the skin. Shuddering lightly, she was once more transported in her mind to a long-past memory.

 **The night Severus had returned to Hogwarts was still as vivid as if it had happened just a minute ago. The sun had sunk below the treetops of the Forbidden Forest hours prior; Minerva was seated in the windowsill of her office in cat form, star-gazing and watching sheets of thick mist crawl across the lake. It was one of those rare moments of peace when the world seems to be suspended in time; even the crickets were quiet.**

 **Then a resounding** _ **crash**_ **split the night, and the keen-eyed cat swiveled her focus to the treeline as something lurched out of the forest. It looked to be a shadow all its own, and moved in a smooth ripple like an inky pool. The fur along Minerva's spine rose; she peeled back her lips and drew in a breath to taste the air, and the scent drifting on the breeze struck her with utter confusion. She tasted thyme and old parchment, wet ink laced with a faint tinge of spicy pine sap and cauldron steam.**

 _ **Severus Snape?**_ **What would a graduated student be doing back on Hogwarts grounds without notice, in the middle of the night? And if she wasn't mistaken, he had Apparated in—** _ **impossible!**_

 **Minerva leapt from the sill and bolted downstairs, Transfiguring mid-stride to cast a Patronus-Message to Dumbledore and alert him of their guest. By the time she came barreling out of the front doors, she could see the dark figure approaching slowly across the walkway towards her. "Mister Snape?" she called loudly. "I know you're here, there isn't any use trying to hide!"**

" **What makes you think I'm trying to hide?" answered a voice she didn't recognize. Its owner then materialized from the gloom, and McGonagall nearly gasped aloud. Apparently puberty had taken its time on Snape, because the gangly, awkward teenager who had left three years ago was naught but a memory. Standing before her—looming a good head** _ **over**_ **her, actually—was a slim but broad-shouldered young man with flashing dark eyes and a messy mane of oily raven-hued hair. The pale skin, gaunt cheeks and thin lips were still there, along with crooked teeth visible behind his trademark sneer. When he spoke, though, his words came out as a rich rumble from the depths of his chest. Truly, the shy little boy had finally come into his own.**

" **N-nothing," stammered McGonagall, blindsided by his sudden appearance. "I saw you coming, and I wondered why a midnight visit was necessary."**

" **I wish to speak to Dumbledore," replied Snape, and Minerva almost corrected him for failing to tack on the respectful title of** _ **Headmaste**_ **r or** _ **Professor**_ **. It was then that she remembered that he was a graduate now, not a student, and therefore was not required to use such formalities anymore.**

" **Then you have found him," interjected a cheery voice as the white-bearded wizard emerged from behind the Transfiguration Professor. "How may I help you, Severus?"**

" **I would prefer to speak with you alone." Snape's low monotone was not hostile, but Minerva bristled nonetheless.**

 **With a small nod Dumbledore acknowledged his request. "Very well. Minerva, would you please excuse us for a moment?"**

 **Anger suddenly welled up within the Scottish witch. "Professor, whatever it is—"**

" _ **Now**_ **, Minerva. It is not an option." Dumbledore only used his no-nonsense voice when something was urgent, and this was obviously one of those instances. So, still ruffled, Minerva jerked her chin at the two men and stormed back into the castle with her robes billowing.**

 **For the next twenty minutes she watched like a hawk through the blurry glass as the pair spoke in the walkway below her window. At last they seemed to come to some sort of an agreement, and Snape followed Dumbledore back into the castle. Minerva rushed back out of her room and onto the balcony of her office which overlooked the entryway. "Good night, Severus," she heard Dumbledore say. "I trust you still remember your way down to the dungeon quarters?"**

 **The lanky young man sniffed. "I do."**

" **Very good. See you tomorrow, then." The elder wizard departed in a swish of purple velvet and translucent baby blue silk, leaving McGonagall and Snape.**

 **The former practically leaped down the stairs to confront the latter; "What are you doing?" she demanded frostily, her Scottish brogue thick with emotional suspicion.**

 **Snape stared her down coolly. "Going to Slytherin quarters—you heard the Headmaster, did you not?"**

" **Aye, that I did," McGonagall spat, "but** _ **why**_ **are you going down there?"**

 **Something between a smirk and a sneer turned the corner of Snape's lip up. "Oh, I see," he said softly. "Dumbledore hasn't told you yet."**

" **Told me** _ **what?"**_ **Minerva practically screeched. Her dark hair was beginning to bristle like an angered cat's tail.**

" **Well, Professor," Snape continued in that unhurried velvety drawl, "it seems that I am to be appointed Head of Slytherin House and Potions Master." His eyes, like chips of obsidian glass, flickered lazily over the stunned Gryffindor witch's face as she absorbed this revelation. "That is, unless Professor Slughorn sees fit to return in the near future…which I somehow highly doubt."**

 **For the very first time in her memory McGonagall had nothing to say. The black-clad man before her gave a shallow bow, his hair falling in glossy curtains over his face, before he straightened up and moved off. "If that is all you desire to know from me, I should be going now," he purred. "After all, I have a new classroom and office to organize. Good night, Professor."**

Minerva shook out of her daze of distant memory. Below her the pinpoints of streetlamps and house lights twinkled, and she realized that she was almost to her destination. Thick chemical smog was forming in the clouds, mingling with coal dust to form thick acidic black thunderheads that stung in the nostrils and throat of anyone who breathed it in.

 _Welcome to Cokeworth,_ Minerva thought dismally. How Severus had grown up in this dim slum of a worker's shantytown she had no idea. It seemed almost cruel to confine a child to someplace like this. Peering down to make sure no Muggles were on the streets, she swooped down to alight in the deep shadows of a narrow alleyway. Graffiti-covered brick walls leaned over her, the harsh yellow lights giving everything a menacing tint. Holding back a shudder, Minerva quickly dismounted her broom and Transfigured it into a plain-looking Muggle pencil, which she put into her pack before stepping warily out into the street.

The houses were crooked, narrow and small. A curtain of coal dust seemed to cover everything, and the few stray dogs she saw slinking about were filthy and malnourished. Stepping over knocked-over trash cans, Minerva scanned the house numbers in their haphazard rows.

Ah—there it was! Number 77 Spinner's End, Cokeworth, England. Just as plain as any of the others, the brick flat on the corner hardly seemed likely to have harbored one of the most powerful wizards in Europe. And yet, if Minerva was right about all this, whatever lay within could lead to a major breakthrough or a helpful clue at the very least. Tentatively, she padded up to the door and (after checking again to ensure no Muggles were watching) pulled her wand to test the defensive wards. After all, as a professor Snape had done overkill on the wards around his castle office and bedchambers; she fully expected his house to be even more heavily protected.

And yet, as she tapped the knob and whispered, " _Alohomora_ ," the lock clicked without resistance and the door promptly swung ajar. Minerva blinked in confusion and gripped her wand in preparation for some sort of vicious maiming hex to come at her as soon as she crossed the threshold. But as she cautiously stepped into the darkened home, nothing happened. With baited breath Minerva gently shut the door behind her and ventured further in, keeping her head on a swivel with all catlike reflexes readied.

She did not know exactly what she expected to find, but it was certainly nothing like what she saw when she reached out and clicked the nearest lamp on. A gasp wrenched from her throat as illumination spread to fill the room, and the shock was instantly replaced with dread. No, this was not what she had expected at all.

It was far worse.


	6. Chapter 6

**(Author's Note: Sorry, guys, this one's a shorty. More to come soon, though; I promise.)**

 **Chapter 6**

There was blood everywhere.

Frantic and fearful, Minerva dropped to one knee and skimmed her fingers over the splotches of dried red staining the carpet and floorboards. In fact, the blood alone was not the only sign which indicated that there had been a scuffle—several of the bookshelves were splintered (presumably by spells that had missed their target), fragments of charred and torn books lay scattered throughout the living room, and much of the sparse furniture was toppled or blasted.

This proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that Severus's dream-message and Trelawney's translation had both been correct. There was something—or some _one_ —after the occupant of this flat. And by the looks of it, their intent was not friendly.

Breathing harshly, McGonagall got to her feet and practically dashed through the house. Everything she saw only increased her worries—there was a massive knife embedded in one of the kitchen cabinets, glass strewn over the cracked linoleum floor, dribbling trails of blood leading from room to room as if the combatants had grappled back and forth.

The witch examined the bathroom, a tiny thing with a wooden tub and no running tap to be seen. Opening the mirror cabinet, she fumbled within for anything informatively useful—all she found was a small tin of Borbigann's Burn-Healing Cream, a stiff toothbrush and a crystal bottle of cologne. But this last item puzzled her—it was very high-end cologne, only available for purchase at some of the finest shops in wizarding France; she knew this because she had once gone on a blind date with a rich Beauxbatons graduate who had seen fit to bathe in it. That smell was burned into her mind forever.

But she had seen Severus Snape every single day for the past eighteen years. There was no way he could have gone to France; he hadn't taken so much as an hour of vacation in all that time. She had a brief thought that a Beauxbatons lady might have brought the cologne over during the Triwizard Tournament, but she hadn't seen Snape speak to anyone besides exchanging a few clipped and impersonal words with Igor Karkaroff. And she was positive that Karkaroff would not gift Severus Snape with a bottle of expensive cologne.

"You sneaky bastard," Minerva whispered with a triumphant smile, clutching the bottle to her breast.


	7. Chapter 7

**(Author's Note: No words can express how much gratitude and adoration I feel for my lovely followers and reviewers. You are my inspiration. To those who reviewed,** _ **THANK YOU!**_ **And a special note to my Guest who commented on being taken aback by Severus's un-canon-like tallness…I shall amend that in later chapters ;).**

 **Chapter 7**

France was only a two-hour flight from Cokeworth. By the time Minerva landed outside the walls of Beauxbatons Magical Academy, the first touch of dawn had breathed its muted pastel blues and golds across the distant horizon. The sea, sweeping far below sheer chalk cliffs, glittered and roared dully in the cool breeze. Minerva breathed deeply of it and felt new energy pour into her being with the heady scents of salt and mist and brine. It reminded her of her green homeland with its foggy mornings and cold gray water.

"You zhere—identify yourself!" The loud call echoed from the ramparts of the marble castle over her head, and she looked up to see the walls lined with robed students pointing wands at her.

"Headmistress Minerva McGonagall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," called the Scotswoman loudly, raising her hands in a gesture of surrender to let them see she was wandless.

The students rumbled with talk amongst themselves for a moment before the leader—a Head Student, no doubt—popped back up again: "And what eez your business at Beauxbatons, Madame McGonagall?"

Minerva bit her lip. She had no desire to divulge the private nature of her mission to these children, but she had to get information. "I wish to see your Headmistress," she answered.

"For what reason?"

McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "It is a private matter."

"Vhat is dis I hear?" A loud and stentorian voice rang out from above, and the students all turned as one as Madam Toulouse came storming through. She was the sister of the previous Headmistress Madam Maxine (who had eventually left to marry Hogwarts' own Rubeus Hagrid), and her seven-foot frame was enough to strike fear into the most stolid of hearts. "Why are my students harassing a Hogwarts professor?" she demanded, glaring about. " _Oui_ , I expect safety, but dis eez just foolish! Let her in!"

"But Madame, she could be using Polyjuice-!" protested one girl.

With her sharp hearing, Minerva caught this whole exchange. "Madam Toulouse, I assure you I am no imposter," she said, "but if it would comfort your students to know this for a fact, I give you permission to use Legilimency on me."

"I would not dream of putting a noble woman through such humiliation!" spat Madam Toulouse. " _Non,_ Headmistress—my girls are simply being foolish. We have wards up around ze castle against Dark spellcasters, disguised or not, so it is no threat to us. Please, come in and let us have a talk togezer, yes?"

Gratefully Minerva nodded and strode inside as the gates swung open to permit her. She felt the prickle of magic as she passed through the invisible defensive wards, and the students seemed relieved to see that she was not an imposter. "Madam Toulouse," she warmly greeted the half-giant woman as she approached across the courtyard.

"Madame McGonagall," smiled Madame Toulouse as the two shook hands. "Welcome to Beauxbatons. How have you been?" A shadow of worry flitted across her face. "How are ze students…and your school?"

"The students and their families are still recovering," Minerva answered as they walked together, "and the castle is in the process of being repaired. As for me, well…" She looked about to make sure no girls were within earshot, "truthfully, I've been better. I came to ask you something; it's about one of my colleagues."

"Oh?" Toulouse's expression darkened even further. "And eez zees question a…a _delicate_ sing?"

"Aye, I'm afraid so."

"Zhen we shall go to my office; we will not have fear of being heard zhere." The blue-clad woman extended a hand, which Minerva gripped tightly; the world wrenched and blurred around them as Toulouse Apparated them into her private quarters. Slightly queasy, the Scottish witch fell onto one of the lush velvet couches. "I do not mean to be harsh, Madame McGonagall," said Toulouse, peering down at her, "but you do not look well. Is zhere somesing I may fetch for you?"

"Ah…some tea would be lovely," Minerva admitted. "But anyhow, I must tell you what I came for."

"Ah, _oui,_ your colleague at Hogwarts," Toulouse nodded absently as she began to fix their tea. "Who eez it?"

Minerva took a deep breath. "Do you know Severus Snape?"

Across the room, Toulouse's large hands froze. "I…I have heard sings," she said carefully. "Bad stories. He was…secretly joined to your enemy, yes?"

"Aye, but he was on our side all along. He spied for Dumbledore while in Vold—You-Know-Who's service." McGonagall licked her lips tentatively. "After the Battle of Hogwarts he went missing, assumed to have been killed in the Shrieking Shack—the Shack was burned down later in the Battle, so there was obviously not enough to recover any… _remains_."

Toulouse picked up two saucers and walked over to sit on the love seat across from the Scottish Animagus. "And ze point to all of zis is…?"

Minerva took a sip of scalding tea before replying slowly. "I believe he is still alive…and here in France. I wanted to know if he came through here."

But to her dismay, the half-giant shook her head. "If I am to believe the description of him zhat my sister gave, someone like him would never be allowed in Beaxbatons. A wizard of such Dark history is difficult to trust…I hope you understand what I am saying, yes?" she finished sympathetically.

"Yes." Minerva nodded slowly, sadly. She had had such high hopes…

"I am very sorry for you, Madame McGonagall," Toulouse said. A long, slightly awkward pause ensued just before an odd scratching noise sounded at the office door; instantly Toulouse's face lit up and she rushed over to open it. "Ah, Pierre!" she cried. "Where have you been, _ma petite chere?_ I have missed you so!"

Minerva leaned forward to see what was going on. She witnessed as Madame Toulouse bent down as if to pick something up, but a flash of black sped under her legs and into the office. When it halted abruptly in front of the couch she sat on, she recognized it as a small black cat. Its eyes, like amber marbles, fixed intensely on her own for a millisecond before it swiveled its sleek head to focus on Madame Toulouse again.

The half-giant Headmistress of Beaxbatons chuckled merrily as she came trundling back. "I see you have met Pierre, yes?" Heaving herself back onto the love seat, she reached out to pet the cat but it shied away like a shadow. Toulouse grimaced sympathetically. "He eez still quite frightened—I found him in ze forest just a week ago, all wet and bloody; I sought zhat perhaps a dog had gotten to him."

Pierre, obviously bored by his owner's conversation, jumped up onto the couch beside Minerva and crouched there, staring at her. So intent was the weight of the feline's gaze upon her that the woman felt slightly uncomfortable; tentatively she reached out towards him. Shockingly, the black tomcat did not leap away as he had under Toulouse's touch; instead, he stretched out his muzzle and Minerva felt the damp, warm feather-light brush of his nose against her knuckles.

" _Sacre Bleu!"_ exclaimed Toulouse in a hushed voice as she watched. "He takes to you well!"

Minerva smiled softly and boldly ran her fingers down the cat's cheek, exhilaration rushing through her as he loosed a throbbing purr and butted his head against her. "I am a feline Animagus," she said. "I suspect all cats can sense the kinship."

"Perhaps," responded Toulouse, and the look on her face even held a hint of jealousy.

"Well, Madame, I would hate to overstay my welcome—you must have more pressing matters to deal with." McGonagall quickly drained her teacup and stood, brushing cat hair from her hands. "Thank you for answering my question…I hope you and your students continue to prosper."

Toulouse smiled. " _Merci,_ Madame McGonagall. I hope you find your colleague, yes?"

"Merlin, I hope so," the other woman sighed.

The pair shook hands again and this time Toulouse did not offer to Apparate her out. So, after a courteous farewell, McGonagall padded down the sweeping marble staircase, admiring the beautiful French craftsmanship of the castle and taking time to mull over her predicament. She had to find whoever Snape had gotten that cologne from—if he hadn't visited Beauxbatons, the nearby wizarding village might give her some help.

Outside, she waved an airy goodbye to the students guarding the ramparts and straddled her broom again before taking to the skies. Had she looked back even once, she might have seen the black tomcat still tracking her from the shadows of the gates, its inky black pupils oddly dilated as it watched her soar upwards. After her form had vanished into the blue, the cat twitched its whiskers, rose to its paws and began walking away from Beauxbatons castle with a purposeful stride.

Madame Toulouse looked for days afterward, but she never saw Pierre the cat again.


	8. Chapter 8

**(Author's Note: Boy, thank God for multi-use hard drives...I was panicking for a couple hours on that last chapter. I wrote it on a PC, but when I tried to get on FanFiction to post, the Airplane Mode was engaged and for some odd reason wouldn't turn off, so I had no Internet and was stressing that I'd have to rewrite the entire chapter again at home. Then I remembered my camera's memory card, put it in, moved the doc over to that, and then was able to post it from a computer that had Internet. *sigh of relief*…Trust me, people; I want to write this story as badly as you want to read it. But why am I still jabbering on about my problems? You're here to read a fic! For those who haven't reviewed, followed or favorited yet, please give me some feedback! Love you all!)**

 **Chapter 8**

Minerva had to admit that there was in a soft spot for the French in her heart, especially for the wizarding community there. They were the most like her: loud, fast-paced, extroverted, impatient, and they loved good food. The shops were small and lopsided, smelled of potpourri and lavender, and the air blowing off the ocean was brisk enough to make Minerva forget that she hadn't slept the previous night. As opposed to the wretchedness of Spinner's End, this sun-bathed seaside village bustled with smiling children, chattering adults and healthy animals.

Feeling more contented and relaxed than she had for the past year and a half, the Scottish witch strolled through the cobblestone streets. She was surprised to see that most of the village's commerce was what Muggles of the same situation would normally do, but these people added magic. Housewives stood out in their yards and put wet laundry on the lines with a flourish of their wands, dried them out and smoothed wrinkles with a couple of simple spells. Fishermen blasted their prey out of the water and Stupified them before sending their full baskets to shore with a Levitating Charm. On the slippery rocks, children played with toy wands and tossed Fizzing Firecrackers to each other while shrieking with laughter.

With a wistful smile touching her lips Minerva turned away and set to business: locating the shop where Snape's cologne had been sold. Via a quick Translation Charm, she asked a local woman where to find perfume and was directed six shops down to an apothecary-type place. The interior was pleasantly decorated and—most exciting of all—lined with shelves loaded with bottles of body scent for both men and women.

"Hello!" the lady behind the counter greeted her. "May I help you find something?"

"Aye, thanks—I'm looking for a particular kind of cologne," Minerva replied, digging in her pack and bringing out the half-empty bottle.

The lady took it and squinted dubiously at the label. "We actually don't hold this brand anymore—it's so expensive it doesn't sell well about these parts."

"But you did before?"

"We did," she confirmed. "The last bottle was bought by a man a few months ago, and we haven't restocked since."

McGonagall's heartbeat stepped up. "A man—what did he look like?"

The saleswoman blinked, startled by her question. "That's funny you should ask, because I've never seen someone quite so.. _.odd_ around here before. He was very tall and thin, with long black hair and pale skin, dressed in dark clothes. It was like he stepped straight out of some sort of ancient vampire story."

"Did he seem like he was in a hurry?" Minerva pressed. "Did you notice any marks or injuries on him?"

The woman shook her head. "He didn't rush, but it seemed like he wasn't focused on choosing anything in particular—more like he just walked in, took it off the shelf, paid for it and left." Her curious gaze roved over the witch. "Why do you ask?"

Irritation snapped at McGonagall. "You didn't answer my other question—was he hurt at all?"

"No. Well…not really."

"What do you mean, _not really?"_

The saleswoman pursed her lips. "There was a welt on his cheek, a nasty one, like he was healing from a Stinging Hex or something. And while he was paying for the cologne I noticed some redness around his throat, but I couldn't see what it was because he had a silk scarf on."

"Did you see where he went when he left?"

"He asked where the nearest wizarding city was; I told him Paris was only a few kilometers from here, and everyone knows the headquarters of the French Magical Embassy is below the Louvre."

 _Aha._ Minerva quickly thanked her and departed, still clutching the cool crystal bottle. It made sense that Severus would seek to hide in a city—there were so many people there that it would be quite easy for someone to blend in or make a quick escape should they need to. Also, his reputation as a recluse would likely lead any enemies to assume they would find him in a small and remote village like this one; the last place they would search would be in the heart of a crowded metropolis.

If he were sensible, Severus would seek shelter from the French Magical Embassy and wait until…well, until whatever it was stopped hunting him. Minerva could only hope and pray that his Slytherin pride and stubbornness would not blind him to logic.

 **Two hours later**

Minerva touched down in the City of Love with ten Galleons in her purse, a wand in her sleeve and no bloody clue where to look. She Transfigured her broom and shouldered her pack, trekking through the weaving streets and dodging Muggle vehicles all the while. Paris was quite a culture shock from the cute seaside village she had previously departed from. She dared not ask any Muggles where to go for fear that they might ask to inspect her bag.

The Louvre…that was a museum, right? Minerva gave an exasperated sigh and wished that she had paid more attention in Muggle Studies during school. Her feet ached from so much walking and the exhaustion was quickly asserting itself more with each passing minute. Ha, some mighty Gryffindor Headmistress she was—if her students could see her now, they'd probably laugh.

Standing in the midst of a crowded sidewalk, she watched passerby stream past on either side like water split over a boulder in a river. It was clear that her situation was less than optimal…perhaps a swig of Pepperup Potion and a minute of rest would do her muddled mind some good. Minerva fumbled in her bag and then skirted into a shadowed alley to quickly down a couple swallows of the bright red liquid. Almost immediately the effect was felt; her tiredness evaporated like water on hot pavement, leaving her refreshed and raring to go again.

She stepped out into the bright sunlit world again and made to head to the opposite sidewalk when something bumped against her shoulder— _hard_. With an angry yelp Minerva spun around, already prepared to fling some colorful Scottish insults at the offender, when she saw who it was and her tongue turned to lead.

The man's face was hidden by a deep hood, his frame engulfed in a voluminous black coat. But he took McGonagall's moment of shock to reach out and shove something into her palm—that done, he slipped away into the churning crowd around them.

"Sev-!" Minerva began to cry out, but she stopped herself; shouting his name in public would only draw attention, and she did not know if his enemies might be lurking about. Instead she darted furtive glances in all directions to check that no one had seen their little exchange or was watching her now. Satisfied that there seemed to be no curious stares, she unfolded the crumpled paper and read it.

 _Brick bridge over the East side Seine at nine o'clock tomorrow morning._

The handwriting was unfamiliar—not Severus's usual spidery scrawl—but Minerva reasonably deducted that he had purposefully changed it to throw off any traces. Clever man.

Minerva's pulse quickened into double-time as she tore up the note and tossed it into the wind, watching the pieces scatter. _Tomorrow,_ her brain reassured her. Tomorrow she would reunite with Severus, and together they would return to Hogwarts. He would receive the help and care he needed, and she would have done her civil duty as a coworker and friend.

Perhaps he would even thank her for it.


	9. Chapter 9

**(Can we say FINALLY? LOL. Love you all. Kindly keep in mind to favorite, follow and review!)**

 **(P.S. I'm not JKR, I don't own any of this, blah blah blah yada yada yada.)**

 **Chapter 9**

Minerva went to the bridge the next day just as the note directed. The temperature had plummeted overnight and fat, loose flakes of snow floated from a heavy and overcast sky to alight on her shoulders, hair and eyelashes. The forested hills rose in mounds and ripples in the hazy distance, their naked black trees wound through with the large white tendrils of Muggle ski runs and moguls.

Bitter wind whipped the witch's long dark hair about her face as she stared about, wondering if she had been set up. There was no noise but the gust's hollow howl, nor could Minerva sense another human presence anywhere nearby. Some part of her had expected this, but to find that such a mouth-wateringly genuine-looking hint was just another dead end did lead to some disappointment. Tucking her threadbare gold-and-red scarf into her thick wool coat, she turned back and prepared to Apparate away.

It was then that she felt the prickle of heat at the base of her skull, signifying that someone was behind her. Wheeling, McGonagall found herself facing the very man she had spent a week and a half trying to find.

Severus Snape instantly cut a striking figure, even more so than she remembered. Considering his status as a vigilante and the dreams she'd had of him, he looked strangely…healthy. Ruddy skin, full shoulders and the shaggy mane of thick and glossy raven hair falling in neat waves about his face threw her for a loop. Even the way the ex-Potions Master carried himself was odd—he looked more relaxed than she had ever seen him in all the years they had known each other.

"Severus?" Minerva gaped, blinking in bewilderment.

A wry lopsided smirk touched his mouth, and he gave a shallow bow. "The one and only." The sound from his throat caught Minerva off-guard—it was raspy and much higher-pitched than his usual velvety bass.

"Where have you been?" she continued, heedful of the sensation of deep unease creeping up her spine like a drop of cold water.

Snape shrugged with one broad shoulder, pursing his lips and glancing aside, "Out and about, I suppose." His dark eyes, sparkling in the sunlight reflected from the snow, met hers. "You got my dream messages, then."

Minerva ever so slowly eased her weight backwards onto her heel and casually said, "Aye, that I did. Took you long enough, didn't it?"

Snape grimaced mildly. "I apologize for the… _inconvenience_ ," he said roughly, "but I've been on the run…if you hadn't noticed."

"I did notice, and that's why I'm here," Minerva told him in a chilly voice. "I also noticed that you aren't the real Severus Snape."

The man recoiled, giving her a skeptical look. "What do you mean, McGonagall?" he asked sarcastically. "Who else would I be?"

"Oh, I don't know—anyone at all," snapped the witch. "I can smell the Polyjuice on your breath. Secondly, the real Severus wouldn't meet me in a public setting; he's far too clever for that. You really need to study up on a person before you try to imitate them." She leaned forward; jaw jutted and narrowed eyes flashing fire. "I don't know how you got ahold of Severus's hair, but let me tell you one thing right now, laddie: whatever you did to him, you're going to regret it," she hissed.

The imposter grinned, and it was a horrible, un-Snape-like snarl of bared teeth. "Not as much as you'll regret your stupidity, witch," he chuckled darkly. Then, lifting his head—"Show's over; come on out, everyone!"

A series of muffled pops sounded as five other spellcasters Apparated in a circle around the two. Minerva's heart plunged painfully in her breast as she defiantly drew her wand and prepared to fight, only to be halted by the bristling tips of six enemy wands. "Put it down, little pussycat," drawled the Snape imposter, lazily flicking her chin up with a crooked grayish wand that was certainly not Severus's.

"Pry it from me cold dead fingers, y' blisterin' bampot," snarled Minerva in a thick Scottish brogue, swatting his wand aside with a flash of her hand.

"Ooh, the kitty has teeth!" one of the Dark witches crowed with a snigger.

"Aye, an' she'd be more'n glad to sink 'em right into your feckin' arse cheeks!" McGonagall raged, whirling on her in a swirl of tartan wool. The sheer force of her verbal wrath made the woman skitter back a step. "C'mon, you louts!" she growled, brandishing her wand, "who wants a go at this kitty first?"

"Easier if we get rid of the teeth first, don't you think?" a young wizard grunted, and flicked his wand in her direction: _"Expelliarmus!"_

Minerva tried desperately to grab at her wand as it flew out of her fingers, but to no avail. The Polyjuiced Snape lookalike smirked. "Now that's all taken care of, let me show you lot how it's done." With that, he bent over to retrieve his fallen wand.

It was a mistake.

With a wordless snarl of rage Minerva lunged forward and thrust her leg up, smashing her kneecap into his nose. Howling, "Snape" fell, clutching his face as blood streamed from his nostrils. Knowing the other spellcasters were about to start throwing curses and hexes, she rolled aside and lashed out with a leg to knock over the young wizard who had her wand. With a startled grunt he went down, and within a second Minerva's grip tightened around the comforting smoothness of fir wood. The powerful thrum of magical energy from its dragon heartstring core reverberated through her being with the spur of her emotions and, flipping onto her back, she deftly blocked the first hex.

Even so, five on one was hardly a fair fight. The previous night's sleep had been fitful due to her excitement at locating Snape, and the weariness she felt only increased with every spell she deflected. _Merlin, give me some help here,_ Minerva thought desperately. _Or Albus, if you're out there—hell, I'll take anyone at this point!_

Her arms shook as she fought to keep her shields up, the sweat streaming into her eyes and burning fiercely; she couldn't seem to draw enough breath into her lungs. The two downed wizards had since regained their wits and joined the fray, and the pressure of hex after curse after jinx was beating on her. Minerva didn't even have time to counterattack, the enemies' spells were coming at her so fast. She really wished that she had thought to take that Felix Felicis…

Just seconds from her inevitable collapse, a flare of red light blinded her as a new voice roared out, _"Stupefy!"_

Out of the corner of her blurry vision Minerva swore she saw one of the witches fall. There was a physical release of pressure as suddenly the barrage of spells halted and the Dark spellcasters focused on someone new. "Wait—who…?!" she heard one of the wizards mutter in confusion just before he went "Oof!" and was blasted backwards.

"Go!" shrieked one of the remaining witches, her tone frantic. Then, venomously: "We'll get you later, you filthy traitor—just you wait!"

Five snaps rent the chilled air as the enemies Disapparated to whence they had come. Trembling hard, Minerva allowed herself to sag backwards onto the snowy ground and gaze up at the cloudy gray sky, relishing the cold wetness of flakes landing on her burning cheeks. Heavy footfalls drew close and she glanced to her right—a worn-out pair of black boots filled her field of vision. There was a rustle as her defender crouched beside her; Minerva got a faint whiff of spicy herbs and French cologne.

"Wha…?" she tried to ask, but all that came out was a slurred mumble.

"Hush, Minerva," soothed Severus Snape as he lifted her into his arms. "You're safe now."


	10. Chapter 10

**(Author's Note: HEEEEERE IT IS! Honestly, though, I have** _ **SO**_ **much fun writing these two saucy snarkbaskets. The chemistry is great to pen. Let me know what you guys think of it; constructive criticism and praise alike is welcome!...as are favorites and follows. ;)**

 **Chapter 10**

Minerva came to slowly, and was momentarily blinded by a flash of bright light when she opened her eyes. A cracked groan wafted from her lips, and she shifted uncomfortably; she was lying on something stiff.

"Minerva?"

This time, that voice was just as it should have been: deep and mesmerizing, like smoke and chocolate. It came straight from the recesses of her memory.

"Mm—Sev? Severus?" The witch struggled into a semi-conscious sitting position and blinked blearily. She saw now that she was lying on a cot with a threadbare sheet and a scratchy wool blanket thrown over her; a single bare lightbulb hung over her head, and she noted it odd that Severus would choose to employ the use of Muggle utilities when he could light the place using one simple spell.

"Yes, it is me…but it really _is_ me this time." From out of the shadows at the foot of the cot slid the ex-Potions Master. Instantly Minerva knew he was telling the truth; he was quite different from the imposter who had met her on the bridge. This Snape—the real one—was thin, painfully so, with skin so pasty it seemed nearly translucent and hollowed-out cheeks dark with stubble. His hair had grown out into a wild and matted mess, falling to his narrow, hunched shoulders. But through the physical deterioration his eyes had remained the exact same: black and angry.

Minerva puffed out a shaky sigh of relief. "Severus…what happened?"

"You," Snape said, and there was barbed, almost venomous accusation in his voice, "wandered straight into a trap."

"Set by whom?"

"Death Eaters," he replied quietly. "The ones who weren't killed in the Battle. They seek to kill me for being a traitor to the Dark Lord's cause. The Dark Lord is dead, but my Mark still burns; I can sense them, hunting for me through the magical link—they close in faster with every day." He folded skinny arms across his chest and glared down at her. "And once they discovered that you were looking for me, they targeted you to draw me out."

 _Ahh._ Everything suddenly fell into place in Minerva's mind. Severus's magical telecommunications were so rare and brief because he couldn't afford to allow his position to be given away; if he reached out too long, any Dark spellcaster could tap into the flow of magic there and pinpoint his location. And his state of physical weakness wasn't helping to keep his mental shields up…

"But now they _have_ drawn you out," Minerva realized dismally.

"Yes," Snape affirmed with a grim note in his tone. "They will find us again soon enough. We need to get moving."

McGonagall's eyes flew wide. "What? No! Severus, you look like Death itself put you into a headlock and dragged you through twenty miles of hell! We're not going anywhere until you rest!"

Snape's dark eyes glittered furiously. "How dare you!" he hissed. "You come bumbling after me, completely clueless and regardless of the risks, fall easy prey to Death Eaters from which I am forced to rescue you, and then you have the nerve to order me about?!"

Minerva winced; he had a point. "I'm sorry," she panted. "It's just…I hate to see you looking so sickly."

This comment was rewarded with a sarcastic eye roll. "How touching."

The Headmistress of Hogwarts nearly hissed aloud. "Don't be smart with me, Severus—"

"I'll be smart with you whenever I please, Minerva," he snapped back. "I am not a child to be coddled and tutored anymore. I left Hogwarts for privacy and the good of the wizarding world; I don't need a nanny to come fretting after me!"

McGonagall actually flinched at the roughness in his voice. "I am not a nanny, Severus," she said quietly. "I am your friend."

A bark of harsh laughter erupted from Snape's throat. "Oh really? A friend, eh? Well then, Minerva, I will ask of you this—where were you when I was growing up in school? Where were you when your precious little Gryffindor cubs were taunting me, belittling me, assaulting me merely for the fun of it and the fact that I was a scrawny Slytherin who loved to read?" The galling bitterness in his tone hit like a lash. "Were you there by my side, defending me against the injustice? No! You were there right behind James Potter and his gang, deducting points from _me_ for "causing a disruption"! You were the one who criticized me most when I struggled in Transfiguration, and never offered help!"

His breath came in shallow hisses now, and his face was flushed with fury. "And the, years later, when I came back as a professor, you respected me only because you knew that I had become a Death Eater! The only reason for your amiability was your fear of me—and don't you dare deny it!"

"Yes, fine! I was afraid of you!" McGonagall exploded, throwing gloved hands in the air. "But times have changed, and I'm making up for it now!"

"How so?"

"By getting you away from those Death Eaters! I thought you died once and it broke my heart, and I'll be damned if I won't let it happen a second time!" There was a long moment of thick silence between the two professors, and had it not been for the twitch in his jaw, Minerva would have thought Snape was frozen.

Finally he moved, his long fingers flexing restlessly. "I don't need your help," he rumbled quietly.

The Gryffindor's hazel eyes narrowed. "For an accomplished Occlumens, you're really awful at lying sometimes." A pause, a breath. "Listen, Severus," she huffed wearily, "I know you don't want to speak with me right now. But please, answer one more question for me."

A long silence reigned before Snape sighed and gestured impatiently. "Yes?"

"…how did you survive? Voldemort's snake attacked you, did it not? Potter and his friends said they saw it, watched you die…" She trailed off, fidgeting in befuddlement.

"I slipped into a venom poisoning and blood-loss induced coma," Snape told her bluntly. "It was Fawkes who saved me in the end. I don't know how he found me; I suppose perhaps phoenixes can smell blood…but anyhow, he shed a tear on the wounds to my throat and healed me, although I still have this as a little… _reminder_ of my narrow escape." He turned his head, allowing Minerva to glimpse a single lock of silvery-white hair streaked through his inky mane. "I managed to set fire to the Shack and flee into the Forbidden Forest before the search parties came looking for my corpse."

The missing piece of information about Snape's Headmaster portrait was then revealed. The magical link with his life-force had indeed sensed him dying and begun to form a portrait, but after Fawkes healed him the process had been halted. Minerva blinked. "But phoenixes only cry healing tears for those who their previous master owed a favor to," she murmured. "What did you do for Dumbledore that Fawkes would be inclined to help you?"

"I killed him," Snape said matter-of-factly. "Albus's greatest wish was to die by my hand as to prevent Draco Malfoy from doing the deed himself. Had I not been the one to kill him, the supposed ownership of the Elder Wand would have led the Dark Lord to target Draco…" he caught his lip between his teeth and glanced away. "The fate I suffered in the Shrieking Shack would have been Draco's instead. I swore to Narcissa—an Unbreakable Vow—to protect her son." His chin lifted and his shoulders squared, as if he were proud. "And I did."

"Indeed," agreed McGonagall softly. "You were so very brave, laddie."

Snape's brow furrowed, as if the compliment had offended him. But he merely looked down at the scuffed floorboards and said nothing. "Please, Severus," said Minerva, "come into the light."

The man obeyed. Having already seen his face and shoulders floating in the gloom beyond the pool of harsh light from the dangling bulb, Minerva was not surprised by his gaunt appearance. Rather, it was his dress which caught her attention. "You're wearing Muggle clothes," she noted offhandedly. "And they're not black…for once."

The barest hint of a smile flitted across Snape's thin, chapped lips. "I thought a bit of change would do me some good," he said. "I know they're not the most fashionable, but they do the job."

"They're not terrible." Minerva let her gaze slide down his lanky form draped in a long-sleeved gray waffle-knit shirt and a pair of baggy blue jeans. "True, you could do better, but I've seen squibs in Hogsmeade wearing worse." Her stare reached his bare feet, narrow and stark white. "Where are your shoes?"

He jerked his chin to her left. "Over there, by the door. I had to slosh through a few puddles coming back with you, so they're drenched."

She bit her lip apologetically before looking around. "You don't have much light in this place—where are we, exactly?"

"I thought you promised to keep the questions to a minimum," snorted Severus wryly. "You're beginning to sound like Hermione Granger."

"Sorry. Gryffindor curiosity, y'know?" the witch joked tentatively.

"Of course. But as for the question, I feel it wiser not to answer; should we have a run-in similar to our little skirmish this morning, I want you to be able to answer truthfully when you say you do not know where we were."

"That's…sensible," Minerva admitted, slightly impressed.

Abruptly the subject changed. "How are you feeling?" Leaning over, Severus placed the back of his hand against her brow. "Save the reprimand for later, but I went through your travel pack and found those potions. Poppy did well."

"Aye, she certainly did."

"But," Snape continued, "we have a limited supply of Pepperup. It is only noon right now; I will dose you with a small amount of Calming Draught, which should enable you to catch a full eight hours' sleep. When you have woken and feel adequately rested, we will leave. Does that sound acceptable?"

Minerva nodded her assent, and he stepped back into the darkness. There came a few minutes' worth of muted rustles, thumps and clinking, after which he re-emerged bearing a small chipped teacup filled to the brim and steaming. "The Calming Draught is mixed in," he told her, handing it over. "Empty that and take a nap."

"And what will you be doing while I sleep?" she asked before taking the first sip.

Onyx eyes narrowed a fraction. "Typical Minerva…always interrogating. But I fail to remember when my business became yours."

"How about when you ran away from your duties as Headmaster?"

He scowled deeply. "Says the woman who forcibly drove me out of the castle by flinging daggers at my head."

Another good point. The Animagus witch pulled at her tea and decided to keep her mouth shut until she woke up again. Seeing that the conversation was closed, the ex-Potions Master rose and moved off again. A long few minutes passed until eventually a loud noise shattered the peaceful air; Snape flinched and looked up from where he sat drawing maps at a tiny desk in a dark far corner of the room. Minerva lay on the cot, the teacup rolling on the floor beneath her limp hand; her head was tipped back on the pillow and she was snoring in a most outrageous manner.

Severus stared incredulously for a good five seconds, then burst out laughing.

 **Eight Hours Later**

The streets of Paris's red light district were much quieter than the rest of the city. That was, after all, why Severus had chosen to hide out there. Gaudy florescent lights blinked from smudged windows, displaying graphics of voluptuous women in scanty clothes and provocative poses. The deep thump of bass music could be heard drifting from the open doors of various nightclubs and bars. Ladies of the night called out to wandering men, flashing winks and smiles and lengths of thigh.

Beneath a burnt-out streetlamp on one of these hushed avenues, a rusted manhole cover stirred. There was a soft guttural grunt as it was forcefully pushed up and to the side, and a thin man clambered out before kneeling to reach back down and help a second person—a petite woman—pull herself out behind him.

"Are you alright?" the man asked in a deep, hushed voice, shooting quick and nervous glances all around.

"Aye, I'm fine," the lady huffed. "Let's just get out of here, yeah?"

The pair slunk into the shadows of an alleyway behind a dilapidated bar. Mere moments later, two new shapes came back out: a silvery tabby cat with black swirl patterns and keen green eyes tagging along at the heels of a black tomcat. The latter halted sharply, parting his jaws to scent the breeze before twitching his whiskers and setting off again.

Scrupulously careful though they were, the fugitives failed to notice the subtle things: the burly raccoon pawing through a garbage bin which looked up to track them with beady black eyes, or the poster of a woman in flowing robes whose eyes followed their path.

Soon the night swallowed the two small animals, leaving no trace but a faint tingle of magical energy in the air for those who could sense it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

 _A cold rain poured steadily onto the gabled buttresses and ramparts of Hogwarts castle. From the solitude of Gryffindor Tower, Minerva gazed unblinkingly out into the dreary evening. A roll of thunder startled her as it reverberated through the small stone-walled office, followed shortly thereafter by a jagged crash of lightning which burned a whitish-blue afterimage into her pupils. She drew back from the window to rub her eyes, and when she looked back up she saw a black speck in the clouds which grew steadily larger with each passing moment._

 _He had arrived._

 _Grimacing angrily, Minerva wheeled away and stalked down to the Great Hall just as the doors flew open with a resounding bang and in swept Severus Snape. Water streamed down from his cloaked shoulders and spattered on the floor as he lowered the deep cowl and met the Deputy Headmistress's accusing gaze. "Good evening, Minerva," he said, his voice somehow carrying a note more authority than it had before. "I trust all is well?"_

" _Aside from allowing two Death Eaters to teach classes and being forced to surrender my rightful place to allow a traitor to become Head of Hogwarts, everything is just jolly," the witch growled._

" _Oh, come now, Professor," purred Snape lazily. "We know each other; this arrangement isn't quite as terrible as you make it out to be. At least Flitwick isn't Headmaster."_

" _I'd prefer Flitwick over you any day, you filthy, two-timing—"_

" _Don't waste your breath, Minerva," cut in Snape irritably. He snapped his cloak, sending drops of chilled rain everywhere; McGonagall hissed in annoyance as a spray hit her face. "Now, if you're quite finished, I have some paperwork to issue you as pertaining to certain classroom teaching method…alterations," he said in clipped tone. "Follow me."_

 _Instinctively Minerva's feet began to take her left, down the corridor which led to the dungeon staircase. "Wrong way, Minerva," corrected Snape silkily, gazing down at her from the landing of the staircase which led up to the Headmaster's office. Flushing pink with embarrassment and fury, the Scottish witch felt more cold and empty than she ever remembered as she padded after the batlike figure of the new Headmaster of Hogwarts._

"Watch your step," Severus said sharply, yanking Minerva back from her stupor of memories. The witch sucked in a startled breath and focused just in time to skirt around a large pothole. A twitch of amusement was evident on the ex-Potion Master's narrow face as he stared at her out of the corner of his eye. "Taking a trip down memory lane, were we?"

"What? No," she denied quickly.

He scoffed. "It's unkind to lie to an Legilimens, Minerva. I know that look. What were you thinking about?"

She bit the inside of her lip—he knew her so well. "The day you became Headmaster," she admitted gruffly.

Something like a disgusted grunt came from the back of Severus's throat. "An awful day for all of us, I assure you," he said with a sneer.

Surprise registered with the Animagus witch, and she turned her head to stare at him. "What do you mean by that?"

The thin man stopped in his tracks and met her eyes, his own glittering black in the shadows. "What I mean is that I never wanted to be Headmaster," he said quietly. Another derisive huff blew from his lips; "In fact, I never wanted to be a teacher." That said, he moved onward again, picking his way carefully through the cluttered alleyway.

"I never knew that," Minerva said evenly, tracing his footsteps with her own.

He smirked wryly. "There is much you don't know about me—and most of it you wouldn't care to know, either."

Hazel eyes narrowed, and her chin jutted defiantly, "I'd bet five Galleons that's not true."

Snape's shaggy black head shook, somewhat sadly. "Trust me on that. Even I don't want to remember my own past.…" His deep voice faded out and his shadow-ringed eyes were distant.

Minerva swallowed back her curiosity and hated the awkward silence that settled between them. "Remind me again why we can't just return to Hogwarts," she said finally.

"I don't want to lead those Death Eaters back there," Severus grunted.

"Severus, don't be a fool! There's…what, twelve of them at most? I could alert Flitwick and we'd have the entire Auror community standing guard 'round the clock to do them in the moment they showed up!"

"It's more complicated than that."

Minerva groaned sarcastically. "Oh, I'm sure. It always is with you."

"Besides, I don't want to go back."

"Why?"

Hard black eyes fixed on her from over his shoulder. "Think, Minerva," he snapped. "Everyone there hates me, some of my worst memories were lived out there, and I almost died there." He faced front. "Plenty logical, if you ask me."

Minerva focused on walking for a bit, then said, "Y'know, not everyone hates you."

"Prove it," he snorted.

"You were awarded the Order of Merlin," she said. He froze mid-step, and she added, "First Class. I kept it for you, because I knew you weren't gone. I wanted to be able to give it to you myself if—when—you came back."

"It was posthumous?" he asked slowly.

"Aye," she confirmed, "but I can easily have that changed."

A derisive sneer curled his lip. "What makes you think I'd take it?"

"It's a symbol of your faithfulness—to the Order…to Albus…to Potter."

"Ha!" barked Severus, kicking a pebble. It clattered loudly as it bounced away. "Me, faithful to Potter? I hate that insolent little wretch. I only preserved his life for his mother's sake."

"Another lie," Minerva said. "You were appalled when Albus told you that Voldemort was to kill him." A bitter grimace twisted Snape's mouth, and he refused to look at her. "Why is it so difficult for you to admit things?" she pressed, her tone gentle. "It's not as if I'd condemn you for wanting to protect a student out of the goodness of your heart…"

Another derisive hiss came from Severus. "There's no goodness in my heart, Minerva," he said gallingly. "I presumed you would have determined that much by now."

"You know what I hate about you, Severus?" Minerva asked suddenly, stopping in her tracks to stare at him quite fiercely.

He turned and met her gaze levelly. "What?"

"I hate how much you hate yourself. And you know what else I think? I think that you don't really loathe everyone else as much as you let on; it's the self-loathing that you have, and it projects out to others and makes them think you're just a sour old codger," Minerva declared, folding her arms and tipping her chin primly.

Snape stared. "A touching sentiment, to be sure," he drawled at last. "Now, if you're intent on wasting your own breath on foolish presuppositions and distracting me from finding a route out of this city which will allow us to escape unnoticed by the Death Eaters, by all means continue talking. But if that is not the case, I highly suggest you stay silent. Besides, there are Muggles who are fond of staying out late, and I would be loath to Obliviate someone so early in the game."

"You couldn't Obliviate someone if you tried," snapped McGonagall in a terse whisper, her stubbornness making her unable to keep silent. "You're far too weak for it."

"I'm not weak." The words were rough and clipped, and in the harsh yellow light Snape's thin form seemed to draw up tight. "In fact, I saved your life just a few hours ago, if you're too thick to recall."

"And I'll bet every Galleon in my Gringotts vault that you exhausted your last shreds of magical energy doing it," said Minerva. "Look at you, Snape; you're hardly fit to stay on your feet."

"Shut up."

Minerva flinched. Never in her entire career had she heard Severus Snape say those words—not to anyone, much less her. As a student he had always been ever so respectful, perhaps even a bit admiring; as a fellow staff member he had been formal, albeit sometimes a little chilly, but their lightheartedly dour joshing at the Cribbage board, card table or Quidditch stands was always just that.

And then, up ahead, Severus abruptly stumbled. "I'm sorry," he gasped roughly, and tripped over to lean against the slimy brick wall. "That was…a slip of the tongue. Didn't mean it." He blinked hard and laced his fingers behind his skull, the posture opening his chest up to draw in more oxygen. His dark eyes, now suddenly dull, found McGonagall's.

"Severus, are you alright?" Worry seized the witch as she swooped in, instinctively reaching for his face. A sharp and ragged intake of breath punctuated the still air just before a bony hand with spidery fingers lashed out and swatted hers away. "Ouch," she muttered out of reflex, drawing back and cradling her stinging knuckles. "Sorry, laddie, I didn't—"

"…'S fine," panted Snape, waving vaguely. "Jus'…a moment, 'aight?" His words were beginning to slur.

"No, _not_ alright," insisted Minerva, and approached once more, this time with a degree more caution. "C'mere, laddie," she said gently. "Let me help you. Let's sit down here, yeah? That's it, just settle in…" she soothed as the weary and trembling ex-Potions Master slid down the wall and sagged onto the cold asphalt.

"But…my Occlumency…shields," mumbled Snape, blinking hazily and trying to fight off the instinctive urge to rest. "Death Eaters…find us…"

"No one's going to find us," McGonagall assured him confidently. "I'm right here, with my wand. I'll put some Invisibility Charms and Shocking Hexes up and you can sleep in peace."

Wait—that was it! _Peace!_ In a flash Minerva had out the potions satchel and was unstoppering the small vial of silvery liquid, which she nudged up to Snape's dry lips. "C'mon now, laddie," she murmured encouragingly, "down the hatch it goes."

Snape's next breath parted his lips just enough to allow Minerva to tip the Draught of Peace down his throat. Out of reflex he swallowed, coughed slightly, and then crumpled slowly back as the quick-acting potion took effect. The Animagus witch watched in satisfaction as his heavy eyelids drooped closed and his body relaxed. Once his breaths came in an even and slow rhythm, she sat back and flicked her wand, mutely casting several sturdy shields and detection deterrents.

She sat with Severus and watched him sleep until dawn beams brushed the sky, and as the morning star faded above she studied it. "I know you're up there, Albus," she whispered. "I know it's asking a lot of you, but…I think we're still going to need a bit more help here before this whole thing resolves itself, yeah?"

Miles away, in the Headmaster's office of Hogwarts castle, the painted portrait of Albus Dumbledore smiled and chuckled merrily.


	12. Chapter 12

**(Author's Note: Please forgive my lapse in writing; I just received some very happy news and have been kept quite busy by that. But I will make an effort to post on a regular basis. Thanks to my followers and reviewers; you feed the muse! Now, as some compensation for making you wait, here's a long chapter!)**

 **Chapter 12**

When Severus came to, there was a warm, vibrating weight on his chest. Disgruntled, he looked down to see a dainty silver tabby she-cat curled up and purring away with contentment. She had also apparently cast a Warming Charm around the both of them, because although the ground was dusted with snow, he felt comfortably toasty. Pushing aside the instinct to thank her, the surly ex-Potions Master scowled. "Minerva, get off me."

At his sleep-rusted croak of disapproval, the Animagus witch-cat lifted her head and examined him placidly with a slitted pair of green eyes before ever so lazily rising, stretching, and stepping down onto the asphalt. Her sleek head swiveled around to check that no one was walking outside before Transfiguring back into her human form, casually brushing dirt from a sleeve as Severus slowly got up. "How long have I been out?" he asked, squinting up at the cloudless blue sky framed by buildings.

"A solid ten hours, I should think," she replied. "The Draught of Peace did its job quite well."

Snape raked long fingers through his tangled, oily hair and glared daggers at her, "You drugged me," he snapped accusingly.

"Not true. You collapsed from physical fatigue and magic power wane; I simply aided your rest," Minerva defended herself, holding up the empty bottle. "And by the looks of it, it worked—you look much better now...although you could still use a good shower and a clean set of clothes," she added with a pointed sniff. "How do you feel?"

"Well enough, and that's all that matters," grunted Severus. He lifted his eyes to the sky once more, and the unsettled twitch of his lips told McGonagall that he was worried. "Come on," he ordered gruffly, "we've lost a lot of precious time here. Let's get moving."

"To where?"

"Does it matter?"

"It does to me," said Minerva, "because I have only ten days left to get you back to Hogwarts."

Snape gave an irritated growling sigh. "I've told you already, I'm not going back there."

The Scottish witch ground her teeth. "So you're telling me that all the time and pains I took to get approved leave and journey out here to find you has been for nothing?"

His emotionless black eyes fixed ahead, Severus responded, "Yes."

"Merlin's bloody feckin' beard!" Minerva exploded, throwing her hands into the air. "Severus Tobias Snape, you are the most insolent, thickheaded man I have ever met! You are so damned stubborn and unmovable you'd put a brick wall to shame! Even my husband was never as curmudgeonly as you—hell, even Filch isn't as curmudgeonly as you!"

Snape blinked and Minerva swore she thought she saw a tiny smirk playing around his mouth. "Do I get another award?" he asked, deadpan. "Maybe an Order of Surliness, First Class."

"It's amusing that you think you're funny," seethed Minerva, flushed with fury.

"And it's amusing that I am the only person able to break Headmistress Minerva McGonagall's iron walls of austerity," Snape drawled. "You are so famous for your precise and orderly leadership, and yet here you are, screeching at me like a cat with a pulled tail."

"I AM NOT-!"

"Point proven."

Those two words drove Minerva past the point of yelling and into a silent cataclysm of rage. Both her face and her knuckles turned white as she wrapped her fingers around her wand and prepared to hex him into next week. But Severus was faster; he always was. Within a heartbeat the thirteen-inch ebony wand was in his hand and aimed for her heart. "I would advise against that, Minerva," he said softly. "The result would be nothing but taxing on our strength and useless to our mission."

Although she heard the sense in his words, her stubborn pride won out. "Then come back to school with me," she said defiantly, her wand hand never wavering.

Irritation simmered in the depths of Snape's eyes. "No."

"If you're going to be so adverse to the idea, then at least tell me why!"

"I already told you, I don't want to go back! Not _ever!"_

"You said something about the Death Eaters being led back," Minerva recalled. "Why is it so much more complicated than it seems?"

Staring fiercely into Severus's eyes as she was, Minerva then saw a spark of what looked like uncertainty. "Lower your wand first, and I'll tell you," he rumbled.

Minerva knew well and truly that he would never willingly attack an unarmed opponent, especially if that opponent was a coworker; even their little duel during the previous year had been only for show on his part. So she dropped her arm and tucked her wand away, up her sleeve where it was snug against her wrist and easily reachable. Snape watched carefully, and then returned his wand to his own sleeve as well.

"Quite frankly, I'm surprised you haven't figured it out yet," he told her. "But anyhow, the reason why I could not return to Hogwarts even if I wanted to— _which I do not_ —is in the Headmaster's Book."

Minerva bit her lip. The Headmaster's Book was a massive tome, by far the oldest in the castle, written by the Four Founders themselves as a sort of instruction guide for the future generations of Headmasters or -mistresses of Hogwarts. There were laws there, too; rules and guidelines dictating how the castle should be run and the students led. These written laws were bound by incredibly ancient and powerful magic which no one had ever attempted to tamper with, and as far as anyone knew it was unchangeable.

"What does it say that prevents you from coming back?" she asked Snape.

"There is a law—titled the Law of Cowardice—which states that any Head of Hogwarts who abandons their post during the school season without permission and fails to return after forty-eight hours is magically excommunicated from the castle and grounds for the rest of their life." His black eyes fell to his shoes before he added, "Should I attempt to return, the full force of the castle's magical defenses would come down on my head."

 _Oh._

Minerva folded her arms and tried to think. "If I gave you permission to re-enter, would that suffice?"

Snape shook his head, "No word even by the Deputy Head can alter it. The castle would not heed your commands because it recognizes me as a coward."

"But you aren't!" McGonagall protested heatedly.

"Try telling the castle that," snapped Severus.

Minerva massaged her forehead. "There has to be some sort of loophole," she mumbled despairingly.

"If there was a loophole, someone would have found it already," said Snape. "The Founders were brilliant spellcasters, though, and checked their own work very thoroughly."

"I know that," grumbled Minerva. "I spent seven years is Professor Binns' room hearing about it."

"Yes, well, I just wanted to make sure you hadn't forgotten; most things Binns says tend to float into one ear and out the other." The Scotswoman's expression following this comment caused a genuine smile to crawl across Snape's narrow face, "Damn, Minerva, I think you've been staring at me from across the Staff Table for too long…you've nearly perfected that sneer."

" _Nearly?_ What was off with it?" she retorted teasingly.

Severus scrutinized her for a few moments longer before responding, "You just look too matronly for it" and turning to sweep away.

"What?! What do you mean, _matronly?"_ Minerva demanded, charging after him. "If you're implying that I'm some old woman incapable of feeling, you're quite mistaken!"

Snape turned his head to fix her with a playful lopsided smirk. "I would beg to differ," he said, "but we still haven't got all day to stand around and poke fun. I have an idea which would allow us to stay in touch with each other even if we were separated, just in case the Death Eaters find us again."

"And what is that?" Minerva asked, naturally shifting back into Headmistress-of-business mode.

"A telepathic link."

"Clever," she nodded. "That's a complex wandless spell, though; are you sure you can muster the strength to do it?"

Dark eyes found hers. "I'll need your help." He extended his hands, palms upwards and fingers spread.

"You have it," Minerva responded immediately, clasping her hands with his and interlacing their fingers. Closing her eyes, she began chanting softly along with the ex-Potions Master, forming words which would broaden the boundaries of her mental awareness. The tingling hum of power through her veins swelled in time to the cadence of the incantation, and within her mind Minerva felt an insistent nudging; Severus was trying to breach her thoughts. Though every defensive instinct she had screamed at her not to do it, she consciously let her mental barriers down and allowed Snape to slip in.

Forming a mental link with another spellcaster was considered an incredibly intimate act of trust, almost as special as two newlyweds consummating their marriage. Minerva stiffened as Severus crossed the threshold of her mentality, but once he squeezed her hands gently she relaxed and allowed him room to expand their bond. He briefly touched a few of her most vivid memories, some happy snippets from a sun-drenched childhood in the hill country of Scotland and a couple from her marriage and teaching career, but he kept away from the darker corners of her mind and did not venture any pressure towards the barriers she had put around her more personal times.

Even as Snape sifted through her mind, Minerva reciprocated. No sooner had she breached his mind there came a bitter taste on her tongue and all at once she was overcome with a sensation of overpowering depression. Bewildered, she delved into the open spaces of his consciousness and was thrown headfirst into a torrent of black emotion.

 **Fear** as Tobias Snape hurled a bottle against the wall close by young Severus's head. **Embarrassment** as James Potter hung him upside down in midair and stripped him naked for the entire school to see. **Helplessness** as Lily Evans walked away from him, and the sinking realization that he had just destroyed his only friendship with one thoughtless word. **Fury** as Albus Dumbledore revealed the details of his manipulating master plan and bullied Severus into complying with it.

Gasping, Minerva yanked away from Severus's cold touch as her vision became clear once more. "I…what?!...Severus…!"

A grim smile pulled Severus's thin lips upward. "Welcome to my life," he gritted lowly, and even as he mentally retreated she still felt the brush of his darkened senses upon hers. The melding of their minds had been successful.

"You never…I never knew…"

"You never knew what I never intended to show you," finished Snape as he turned aside. "But now it's over, and there will be no further discussion of it. Now let's move before the Death Eaters get any ideas."

Hastening after Snape, Minerva reeled in the newfound revelation. She struggled to overcome the lingering sadness which his memories had imprinted upon her thoughts. But the thing that bothered her most of all was that Snape's words rang true—she had looked over all of that as a teacher. How such horrific bullying had been glazed over was…unthinkable. Retreating back into her own memory, she drew up recollections of a young Slytherin with stringy black hair and sallow skin staggering into the Hospital Wing multiple times each week, and her only thoughts had been that _"Oh, that Snape boy is such a klutz…"_

 _ **Stop.**_

The voice was deep and commanding; it was Snape's voice…inside her head. Through their new link he had been able to sense her train of thoughts. Instantly there was a rush of fear and guilt, and she ducked her head. "Sorry," she said out loud.

He didn't respond. Watching his slender frame sauntering ahead, McGonagall was oddly struck by the air of mystery he held even when dressed in plain Muggle clothes, dirty, exhausted, and having bared his entire mind to her inspection. Was it the upright way he carried himself or the cool glitter in his black eyes? Perhaps it was the whiplike sarcasm and impressive intelligence.

Whatever it was, Minerva enjoyed having it around. Perhaps eventually he would see common sense and let her help him. _Whoever made up the opinion that only Gryffindors are stubborn was an utter fool,_ the witch mulled.

Treading lightly a few paces ahead, Severus's eyes flashed with amusement as her thought rang clearly in his own ears. _**Perhaps you have met your match in me,**_ he replied.

 _Perhaps, but between the both of us, I will always have better fashion sense,_ she snipped.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

 **(Author's Note: Lots of fluff here! You'll see that later in this chapter Minerva is recorded as saying some rather funny Scottish terms and phrases. Yes, I looked them all up, and yes, they are very real sayings in Scotland. I now have some colorful new vocabulary words to use, as will you readers when you finish this chapter…)**

" _Bombarda!"_

The door of the tiny cabin flew off its hinges and careened backwards, inside. At Minerva's side, Severus grimaced. "You could have just tried the knob."

"I find that force is often more useful than caution," Minerva muttered as she brushed past him and headed in.

The combined breath of the two fugitives created steamy puffs of condensation in the chilled air. After repairing the broken door, casting several anti-locator charms and strong defensive wards around the entire place, Minerva turned to Severus. "Anything else?"

Black eyes, bright with tension, flicked around the dim setting. "I don't believe so, no," he murmured at last. "We should get some rest now." A loud noise interrupted the silence and made them both flinch; after realizing what it was, Minerva began laughing as Severus flushed deeply.

"Sounds like your stomach disagrees with your plan, eh?" the witch smirked, pointedly looking at Snape's rumbling midsection. With a good-natured jerk of her head, she hefted her wand again and turned for the back door: "Come on, then; let's find some supper."

"Really, Minerva, you don't have to—" he began to protest, but she cut him off.

"Nonsense! I don't care if you're the most powerful wizard Europe has ever seen, you still need food to survive. That's common logic, you know," she chided as she forcefully barged through the door, which was half-sealed shut with ice.

"Be careful," he exclaimed in a hushed and urgent tone as he lunged past her to stand protectively in front and brandished his own wand, "it could be dangerous."

"So you don't trust my spellwork?" the Scottish witch challenged, arching an eyebrow.

"Of course I do, but—"

"You watched me set those wards—nothing gets near here without our knowing." She pushed past him again, scanning the snowy treeline. "Stop fretting for once in your life."

He practically growled as he stalked after her. "I apologize for looking after your safety."

"You're the one who needs protection, Severus! I mean, look at you!" Minerva said, gesturing at him. "It isn't good for you!"

Snape rolled his eyes. "And when has a detriment to my health ever stopped me from doing something?"

"Never, but it should," McGonagall snorted. "I swear, sometimes I think the only thing that could possibly stop you is death." A pause, and a brief huff of mirthless laughter from her—"Then again, you've technically already died once and it didn't do much to get in your way, so perhaps you're invincible."

"Mm, that would be quite a freeing revelation," he smirked.

"Indeed."

The pair walked in comfortable quiet for a few minutes, stepping cautiously through the pines in their search, when suddenly Minerva halted dead in her tracks and threw out an arm to stop Snape. Almost in unison they sunk into a crouch behind a tree. "See that?" Minerva breathed, peering around the trunk.

Looking, Severus spotted the target. A deer fawn skirted about at the base of a tree a couple yards away, rearing up on its hind hooves to try and reach a cluster of frozen berries dangling enticingly from the spindly branch above. It was quite small, its white spots barely fading, and its spindly little legs churned snow with every prancing step.

Severus swallowed and glanced to Minerva. "Well? What are we going to do?"

She replied in a barely audible whisper, her eyes still fixed on the fawn. "Do you think it's lost?"

His brow furrowed. "That seems obvious…but I don't understand what that has to do with this. How are you planning to take it out?"

The expression of confusion and anger on McGonagall's face when she turned to him was nearly enough to make him cringe. "What? Severus Snape, how dare you! We see a helpless little baby deer wandering in the forest trying to find food and your first thought is to kill it?"

Snape scowled; his blood sugar was plummeting by the second and his already-thin patience was going right along with it. "We're trying to find food too, Minerva," he hissed lowly, "and this could be the only prey around for miles. Unless you'd like to spend the night wandering about the woods picking berries and digging up frozen roots, I'd suggest we take the one chance we're given."

The witch pursed her lips, her gaze darting from her companion's gaunt face to the deer hopping vainly for the berries. She took a deep breath; then, in a strained and very small voice, said, "Fine. But you do it, and I'll have no sight of you making the poor thing suffer, you hear?"

Snape acknowledged her words with a curt nod and was gone in a moment. Minerva watched with baited breath as he slunk quickly and quietly to the shade of a tree directly across from the deer. His indistinct dark form grew larger, his shoulders swelling with lean muscle and chest broadening as sleek fur replaced oily hair and sharp claws slid from his fingertips. In a minute he fell onto all fours, shaking himself as the Animagus transformation completed. Burning amber eyes sought Minerva in the darkness, their pupils dilated with primal hunger.

 _Now_ , Minerva said in her mind.

The black panther twitched its whiskers and went into a smooth hunter's crouch, peeking around the trunk of the tree to watch his prey. Satisfied that the fawn was totally engrossed in its own focus, he glided soundlessly out from cover.

In her own cat form, Minerva had hunted and eaten countless mice and rats, even a few snakes of varying sizes. But now she could not watch as Severus tackled the oblivious deer, and a whimper fell from her lips as she heard a loud thump followed by a scuffle and a panicked bleat which was cut off with a brittle _snap_ as Severus clamped powerful feline jaws around its throat and broke its spine with one vicious wrench of his head.

Minerva heard a soft dragging growing louder, and briefly glanced over to see Severus—now back in human form—hauling the carcass backwards. There was blood dripping down his chin, and his eyes were only half-changed; their burning amber hue was vaguely unsettling as the two locked gazes. "Are you planning on standing there all day, or are you going to help me with this?" he growled.

Silently Minerva hurried over to lift the fawn's tail end. They shuffled together in an odd tandem until Snape stopped on the back porch. "Set it down here," he said, and they lowered it down onto the concrete pad. Now kneeling, the black-haired wizard looked back to Minerva with a stony expression and Transfigured a nearby branch into an unusually large and sharp-looking knife. "I'm going to skin and gut it now," he said, "so I suggest going inside if you don't want to watch."

"Couldn't you just use a spell?" the Scottish witch queried, folding her arms against the chill of the outdoors.

"I could, but it saves my power to do it manually," he replied as he set the knife against the fawn's belly. "Besides, I enjoy little things like this—working with my hands takes my mind off worrying."

Minerva watched in detached wonder as he cut into the deer's flesh and began working. "You know, Severus, I don't think I've ever heard you speak as much as you have since you saved me from those Death Eaters."

Those onyx eyes never moved from his task; his hands moved deftly across the carcass as he skinned it, ignoring the blood dripping down his hands and pooling on the ground at his knees. "And your point is…?"

"You seem more open…more content."

Snape scoffed. "I am never content, Minerva. But perhaps having someone to talk with who isn't deathly afraid of me makes it simpler to strike up conversation."

McGonagall swallowed, her pupils flickering over the layers of glistening red muscle and yellow fat exposed by his quick knife work. "Can I help?" she asked in a weak voice.

"Can you handle it?"

"I…I think so," she replied.

Severus rocked back onto his heels and gestured with the bloody knife, spattering the concrete with flecks of red. "That's not good enough," he said sternly, sounding every bit the stentorian professor again. "I only want help if you're absolutely sure about it; I'll not have the Headmistress of Hogwarts swooning over a dead deer."

"It might make things better if you'd wipe the blood off your mouth," Minerva admitted. "You look very vampiric."

Snape grinned broadly at that, displaying double rows of glistening red teeth that made the Scotswoman shudder. "Witches," he groused as he dragged his forearm across his mouth and chin to clean off the gore. "So delicate about every little thing."

"Says the man who can't take criticism at all," returned McGonagall pertly.

Blood flew as Snape gave a particularly violent flick of the knife. "I wouldn't insult me while I'm holding this if I were you," he warned.

Minerva rolled her eyes, "Oh, stop it. You wouldn't hurt me."

Snape pursed his lips and set the deerskin aside, now going to work on carving into the carcass itself. Through their telepathic link, Minerva felt his grudging admission. And there was something else there, too…before she could sense it further, Severus's consciousness clamped down on hers and forcefully pushed her away.

"Ouch, laddie!—what was that?" she exclaimed, touching her temple.

"A warning," he grunted as he scooped out the deer's large intestine and piled it in the frosted grass. "Stay out of my head."

Inhaling deeply, the Headmistress of Hogwarts watched her breath billow out from between her lips. "How did you learn to do that?" she asked, nodding at the carcass.

"I'm a half-blood. I went hunting with some Muggle boys in my childhood," he answered simply. A minute later he rose and waved his wand over the carcass, which vanished. "The final result is on the kitchen counter."

Ducking inside the cabin, Minerva padded into the kitchen and saw a plate of raw steaks sitting next to the sink, the darker hue of the meat signifying that it was deer. "Excellent," she praised, turning to Severus. "Thank you, Sev."

Whether it was her thanks or the endearing nickname, Snape's sallow cheeks went pink. "It's nothing," he muttered, avoiding her gaze. "I'm going to go shower and get fresh clothes now—I'll be back in a bit."

"Alright," said Minerva, and watched him slip down the hallway. He dissolved into the darkness shortly before a door slammed; presently the sound of running water was audible. Minerva turned back to the counter, allowing herself a secret little smile as she began to rummage through the kitchen cabinets.

Roughly twenty minutes later, the bathroom door reopened. From her workspace in the kitchen, Minerva glanced sideways out of habit and was startled to catch a glimpse of the ex-Potion Master's lean, pale torso as he emerged clad in only a towel and stepped across the hall. Mortification shot through her as she felt the prickle of Severus's consciousness in her mind and his deep voice murmured silkily: _**It's not polite to stare, Professor.**_

The witch looked away abruptly, her face and ear-tips burning.

She had busied herself magically cutting onions when there came a rustle and Snape shuffled into the kitchen, his eyes brighter than usual. "Something smells wonderful," he rumbled approvingly.

"Venison stew." Minerva looked at him over her shoulder as she dropped in the onion. "Still sticking with the Muggle clothes, are you?"

Brushing lint from the shoulder of his jacket, Snape said, "They're a bit less conspicuous than flowing black robes." Taking another deep sniff, he stepped closer and clasped his hands behind his back to lean over Minerva's shoulder: "I had no idea you could cook."

"Every witch worth her salt knows how to cook, Severus," the Animagus sighed. "Magic helps a lot, too." There was a pause; thick silvery steam wafted up from the pot simmering on the stove and tickled her nose, and she stepped back. Severus grunted softly as she bumped into him. "Oh, I'm sorry," Minerva exclaimed, turning to face him. To her shock, she found herself looking not _up_ at him, but rather directly into his eyes. Baffled, she blinked. "Wait—you're…"

"Shorter than usual?" smiled Severus, amusement flashing in his eyes. "I think you'll find that I have taken off my boots, which may or may not have a few inches of heel on them."

Minerva looked down. Sure enough, he was barefoot, and the resulting realization hit her like a thunderbolt. "You're only five-foot-five?" she choked, sputtering with laughter. "Laddie, I thought you were at least six foot!"

Now Snape was smiling broadly, not at all abashed. "That's the point; the bigger and taller I make myself, the more imposing I seem—if those Weasley boys knew I was shorter than them, I'd never live it down."

The two shared a minute of hearty laughter before Minerva wiped her eyes, still giggling. "Ah, it feels good to be able to laugh again," she murmured.

"Tha' it does, lassie," Severus agreed, doing a poor imitation of her thick Scottish brogue. "Ah cannae raymembar whence was th' laest taime I haid a gud laugh, bu' Ah cud get used ta et, aye, Ah cud."

"Ay, awa' an bile yer heid, ya wee crabbit, else I'll skelp yer bahoochie!" shot back Minerva indignantly, brandishing her wand and making as if to swat him with it.

"Oh no, don't skelp mah bahoochie! I need it!" yelped Snape in exaggerated terror, skipping backwards with his hands raised in surrender. He twisted back to point a glance at his rear end, "In fact, I think my bahoochie may be too small to skelp at all."

Minerva grinned wickedly. "Dinnae mock me again or we'll see aboot that."

"Yes, ma'am," replied Severus with a playful smirk.

The witch punched him—gently—on the shoulder and turned to check the stewpot. "Looks ready," she said. "Where are the bowls and cups and things?"

"Cutlery is in the drawer by your hip," said Severus, pointing, "and bowls are above your head, cups in the cabinet next to them." He stepped to her side and reached for a ladle in the cutlery drawer, "Hand me the bowls and I'll serve."

As she fumbled with the spoons, Minerva kept sneaking glances over at Severus. Somehow, his diminutive height didn't bother her; in fact, she found it… _endearing_? It was most intriguing to watch him move, with his graceful hands and nimble fingers and quick, dark eyes. His hair was—thank Merlin—freshly washed, and hung about his lean features in a damp mop; occasionally he would flick his head to get a strand or two out of his eyes. The air around him carried whiffs of sandalwood soap to the Scotswoman's sensitive nose.

Minerva hadn't ever noticed how much she really liked the smell of sandalwood.

Once Snape had filled their bowls, they moved to the dining table and sat. As they began to eat, Minerva asked, "Severus?"

"Hmm?"

"How did you know about this cabin?"

The ex-Potions Master did not look up from his food. "I came here occasionally as a young child," he said. "My grandfather built this cabin. He was a Muggle lumberjack and when he came here to France, he loved it so much that he decided to build a little vacation house in the heart of the forest."

"How lovely," beamed Minerva.

"But after he died, my father let this place rot. He was too busy wasting money on liquor to care," continued Snape in a low monotone. "I fixed it up myself a few months after he and my mother passed."

"If I had known you had a vacation home near the French Alps, I might have visited you more often," laughed Minerva lightly. "Why would you stay at Spinner's End instead of coming here on holiday?"

"The Dark Lord. He kept a tight rein on all of us," Snape explained, obviously referring to the Death Eaters. "He didn't like it when we wandered far—it made him suspicious." He sniffed. "And Merlin knows I couldn't have him suspicious of me."

"True," Minerva admitted. A pause. "You know, Severus, I think you were terribly canny and brave to do what you did."

"I had no choice," Severus replied somewhat bitterly, poking at the chunks of venison in his stew.

"But you did!" pressed McGonagall. "Karkaroff planned to run away when Voldemort summoned, did he not? You told Albus that yourself, and you also said that you would stand until the very end! _That_ is real courage."

Severus bit his lip but said nothing. They finished their meal in silence, and when Minerva rose to clean out her empty bowl she took his as well. "You don't have to do that," muttered Snape, making to get up and help.

Minerva replied with a smile. "I want to."

Snape stood quietly by the table for a minute, watching her Scourgify the dishes and silverware, before slipping up behind her. The older witch's breath hitched in her throat to feel his soft hair tickling her neck, his breath warm on her ear. "Good night, Minerva," he purred, and that rich velvet bass sent shivers scuttling up her arms.

"Good night, Severus," she responded, willing her voice to remain steady.

She felt pressure on her temple just before the warmth of Snape's body disappeared. An odd chill seemed to settle over her and she folded her arms, her mind reeling with a mixture of disbelief and desire. He had kissed her—just a brief, friendly peck on the forehead, really…but it was still a kiss.

Minerva stared into empty space for a good five minutes before shaking out of the daze and curling up on the couch in cat form. She knew everything Severus did and said had some sort of double meaning.

If that was true, then what did that kiss mean?


End file.
